The Recovery in the Nocturne
by Rochelle Templer
Summary: Sequel to The Measure of the Spirit: Two months after leaving the hospital, Sweets still struggles with his recovery. Meanwhile, what appears to be an open-and-shut case soon points toward a far more elaborate and sinister murder plot. *On hiatus*
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: At last. I am starting up the sequel to The Measure of the Spirit. Knowledge of that fic and of The Narrow of the Margin and The Heart of the Family will be necessary to enjoy this one, I'm afraid. I have high hopes that this one will not take as long to write as TMotS, but I am thinking that it might be about as long...

I do not own Bones or any of its characters.

I want to thank everyone who reads/follows/reviews this in advance. I hope that you will all enjoy this sequel.

The Recovery in the Nocturne

Doctor Lance Sweets wished he could sleep.

His inability to slumber had little to do with his sleeping arrangements. The guest room in Brennan's apartment was very comfortable and that included the bed he was lying on and the blanket that the anthropologist had given him in the hospital. Nor was his restlessness due to a lack of familiarity of his surroundings. For the past two months since leaving the hospital, Sweets had mostly been living with Brennan with short stints at Booth's apartment and Hodgins and Angela's place to break up the routine. The psychologist could not quite put his finger on why, but he often felt the most at ease when staying with Brennan while he recovered.

Sweets turned to lie on his back and stared at the ceiling. Logically, he knew that things like his worsening depression and his still severe PTSD were making it difficult for him to relax enough to be able to sleep, but that knowledge did not help much when faced with the challenge of feeling secure enough to close his eyes. In fact, mulling over all this only made his mood turn even sourer than it had been moments ago. Sweets frowned and flung his blanket away.

'_I'm supposed to be a clinical psychologist,' _he thought to himself. '_It's my job to help agents work through these kinds of things so that they can continue to work and lead normal lives. And yet here I am…I can't get through even one day without crying or having some kind of panic attack or flashback…often all three. I can't even calm myself enough to get a decent night's sleep. So much for my so-called talents and skills.'_

The therapist clenched his hands into fists and pounded them into his mattress. He had come to an agreement with his friends and family to put off making any long-term career decisions until six months had passed since leaving the hospital at which time they would revisit the question of whether or not he was going to abandon psychology altogether. Sweets understood the reasoning behind this agreement. He had learned a long time ago in his training that it was usually a bad idea to make drastic, life-altering decisions too soon after a major trauma. On nights like this, however, it was impossible for Sweets to see how waiting a few months could make him change his mind. The only thing that did give him pause was the fact that he had not worked out any sort of alternative professional course to embark on instead.

'_Stupid, worthless brat….'_

Sweets immediately sat up and pressed his hands against his ears in what he knew to be a futile attempt to block Andrew's voice from his brain. He had hoped that the passage of time and the care and reassurance from his friends and family would dull the memory of his biological father's hate-filled voice or the things that were said and done to him. Instead, the words only became clearer and more pervasive day by day.

The psychologist finally gave up on sleeping and swung his legs over the side of the bed so he could stand up. The cast from his leg had been removed less than a week ago, and Sweets was still somewhat unaccustomed to the new-found freedom that his increased mobility gave him. He slowly stood up and moved out to the front room where he sat down onto the couch.

Uncomfortable with sitting in the dark, Sweets turned on a small lamp that was sitting on a stand nearby and stared at the objects in the room. Night like this always felt like they dragged on forever for Sweets and he was not relishing the thought of sitting up all night alone. He longed for the return of the sun so that its light could calm him. Partially from his anxiety and partially because of his recent illnesses and trauma, Sweets shivered where he sat.

'_I just want to sleep. Please let me sleep,' _he begged silently. But even in the midst of his unspoken pleas, the therapist knew that begging was useless. Besides, sleep usually meant nightmares which were made up of memories of his time as Jensen's captive. Thus, the only real rest he could get was the result of either total exhaustion or in the company of someone else watching over him, both of which led to generally dreamless slumbers.

Sweets sighed; he had wanted to try taking sedatives again so that he could get some additional sleep, but Werner and Wyatt, both of whom were still treating him, cautioned against it. Everyone else decided to take their recommendations to heart and made sure to keep any sleeping pills out of their homes while the psychologist stayed with them. It still chafed at Sweets when the others made decisions like that for him, but he was aware of how diligent they were being in trying to safeguard his health, so he managed to keep those feelings to himself for the most part.

The therapist's eyes burned while he yawned. Another reason that he wanted to get some sleep was because he was going to finally see Daisy again tomorrow.

For the past six months, Daisy had been part of an excavation of ruins down in Peru. Some skeletons had been found in an ancient village and Daisy had been one of a small group of grad students chosen to help work at the site. After his ordeal with Andrew, Brennan had apparently contacted Daisy and gave her the basic details about what had happened, along with updates a couple times after that. Unfortunately it had taken a long time for any of this information to reach Daisy due to the remote surroundings where she was working. Once she had found out though toward the end of her stay, she asked Brennan to keep her informed and to please keep taking care of "her Lancelot" until she came back.

Sweets was glad that Brennan broke the news to her, saving him from having to do it. But he knew that that would not be the end of it and that Daisy would want to know more about what happened…and that was something he was not looking forward to, thus his desire to be well rested at the very least.

The psychologist's shivering increased. Sweets also knew that Daisy would want more than to just talk about what happened. She would want to know about how he was being treated and how he was doing now. He could not fault her for any of that. Daisy cared and it was normal that she wanted to know as much as possible about his current condition.

Even more than any of that though, Sweets dreaded what was sure to happen if the two of them spent any private time alone together. Daisy would definitely want to "celebrate" their reunion in a more intimate way. That would entail her seeing all of his new scars along with the old ones…one of which he had not discussed with anyone.

Sweets unconsciously brushed his fingers near the area of this new scar, the result of a burn to the skin. He had noticed it while he was in the hospital and it had hurt more than the ones on his torso, but he could not remember when he had gotten it. It wasn't until the end of his stay there that the memories started coming back to him.

'_This is your fault…You wanted this.'_

'_I'm going to make sure everyone knows just how damaged you really are.'_

'_You'll never escape me, Lance.'_

Sweets felt his heart start to race and his breathing speed up. He then squeezed his eyes shut.

'_No not now…Please don't let me go back to that now….Please…"_

"Doctor Sweets?"

The soft voice broke Sweets out of his reverie, and he almost fell off the couch as a result. He whirled around to see Brennan standing behind the couch, clad in a robe and pajamas.

"Doctor Brennan," he answered his voice jittery. "I'm sorry if I woke you up. I can just go back to my room and…."

"I was awakened, but that was mainly due to my own restlessness," Brennan responded. "It wasn't because of anything you did. Once in a while, I have trouble sleeping, though not to the extent that you do these days."

Sweets nodded slightly and then looked away, his heart still pounding in his chest. He tried to hide it, but he could feel his breaths becoming shallower. He was sure that Brennan noticed it or if she didn't she soon would. The anthropologist walked over to sit next to Sweets on the couch and placed one of her hands over his.

"Would you like me to sit with you for a while?" she asked, her thumb rubbing the back of his hands.

"No, you don't have to," Sweets answered in a strained, thin voice. "I'll be fine."

"Sweets, your breathing is becoming rapid and shallow again, and I suspect that your heart rate is accelerating," she said. "Chef Wyatt has mentioned that all of that along with your shivering are classic symptoms of a panic attack. Having observed you closely for the past two months, I am inclined to agree with Wyatt's judgment."

Sweets shivered some more as he hung his head. When he had first left the hospital, he had made the decision to try to hide his distress as much as possible, but he knew that he had been far from successful.

"I…I'm sorry," he murmured. Brennan patted his hands and got up from the couch. About a minute later she returned with the blanket from his bed and proceeded to drape it around his shoulders.

"I hope this will be sufficient to keep you warm until this passes," Brennan said. "I'm going to make some tea as well."

"Doctor Brennan, you don't have to…."

"Numerous studies have attributed chamomile tea with the ability to facilitate relaxation," Brennan said as she walked into the kitchen. "There is a good chance that it could help the both of us get some additional rest."

Sweets nodded again and sat as still as he could so that he could concentrate on controlling his breathing. Ever since he was a teenager, he had learned and practiced various methods to help him deal with stress and anxiety. It had proven to be a vital skill as he learned to deal with his horrific early childhood and the loss of his parents later on in life. It had also been important to him as he dealt with the pressures of working through the world of academia at an accelerated and intense rate. Recently, he had gone over some these techniques with Wyatt and had practiced them during the once weekly informal "sessions" the two of them had.

Still, he couldn't help but feel like a child again while sitting here shivering under a blanket as he tried desperately to calm himself down. He was glad that his breathing was starting to level out, but now a cold sweat was forming on his brow, indicating that his panic attack was far from over.

Brennan rejoined him on the couch a moment later and upon seeing his distress took both of his hands into hers.

"You don't need to apologize to me, Sweets," she said. "The research I have read has informed me that panic attacks are partially involuntary responses to outside stimuli which involve the activation of the sympathetic nervous system, leading to all of your symptoms. But…I imagine that you already knew about that."

Sweets tried to smile despite the vague, but all too real fear that had filled his soul.

"Would you like to continue our discussion now?" Brennan asked. "Or would you prefer quiet?"

"No…no I would rather talk," he said. "What were we talking about last time? I think it was _The Merchant of Venice_?"

"Yes, it was," Brennan smiled at him. "Let's continue from there."

During the time that he had been staying with the anthropologist, Sweets discovered that the two of them were probably the most well-read members of their little group and so they could discuss classic literature with each other for hours. As a result, they ended up spending many mornings and some evenings continuing a prolonged conversation about some of their favorite works. They had touched on Milton, the poetry of the Romantic period, and Proust previously before moving onto Shakespeare.

Sweets had quickly grown to relish these conversations. His parents had also been avid readers, but since their passing, reading and savoring literature had become more of a solitary activity. Brennan's vast reading experience along with her intelligence made it so that Sweets did not have to hold back in the least in his meticulous analysis of each work, and the both of them found these talks to be a refreshing change of pace.

They began to discuss the plot and characters from the play until the tea kettle whistled, and Brennan left the room again to tend to it. While she was gone, Sweets was relieved to discover that his panic attack was starting to dissipate. A couple minutes later Brennan reappeared with a teapot and a pair of cups and poured each of them some tea before sitting back down. They went back to talking about the play again until Sweets eventually let her take over most of the conversation.

Sitting here with her, it finally occurred to Sweets why he felt so comforted at her place. Time with Brennan was a blanket when he was cold, a gentle hand on his when he was scared, and company when he needed it. She did not prod at him about the things that plagued him nor did she mince her words when she spoke to him or shy away from the truth. Sweets loved all of his family dearly, but Brennan seemed to be the most adept at giving him the space he needed while still staying close enough to help him feel secure.

Deep down, Sweets knew why this was. It was because she was somewhat like him: a private person who still needed to have a family to nurture and to receive nurturing from.

Almost an hour later, their discussion began to wind down, and Sweets started to feel tired again. There was, however, one last thing that was making him feel uneasy.

"Doctor Brennan, you know that Daisy is coming back tomorrow, right?"

"Yes," Brennan said as she sat her teacup down. "You had mentioned a couple of days ago that you would like to meet her at my office. And I would venture that the two of you will probably end up spending some time alone together at your apartment tonight."

"Yeah, I guess we will," the psychologist shrugged.

"You said that with a hesitant tone of voice," Brennan pointed out. "Are you not looking forward to seeing Miss Wick again?"

"No I am," Sweets answered. "But I…How much did you tell her about what happened to me?"

"I told her that your biological father kidnapped you and tortured you for around three or four days," Brennan answered. "I also mentioned your subsequent coma and gave her a very brief outline of your injuries, along with telling her about your current living arrangements." She saw Sweets shudder violently and became concerned. "Should I have said less?"

"No, that's ok," Sweets said. "I appreciate your thoroughness and candor with her."

"Booth mentioned that you might be reluctant to bring up the subject with Miss Wick, but that you also would probably not want to have any of us to go into too much detail about your ordeal."

'_And Booth would be right,' _Sweets thought to himself as he reflected on how grateful he was that Booth had guided Brennan on how to inform Daisy about what happened.

"Perhaps there is some other reason why you are hesitant about seeing Miss Wick?" Brennan added.

"I…." Sweets sat the teacup he was holding down and clasped his hands together. "When we are together, I don't…I don't want her to see…."

"See what?" the anthropologist asked.

"I don't want her to see…" Sweets' voice trailed off as he ran his hands along his body.

"Oh, you don't want her to see the scars from your recent injuries," Brennan said. "Which could happen if you are engaging in sexual activity."

Sweets blushed and looked away. He had always admired how straightforward she was, but that did not make moments like this any less uncomfortable.

"But Sweets, I'll assume that Daisy has already seen the scars on your back before," Brennan said. "She did not seem to have a problem with them then."

"That was different," the psychologist insisted. "That was before…It's worse now…I'm worse now…."

That last sentence was said in a whisper, his voice growing rough with tears.

"This isn't just about your physical scars, is it?" Brennan asked quietly. Sweets did not respond, the tears starting to roll down his cheeks. He was afraid that if he started talking, he would start blubbering, and he did not want that.

"I'm not sure how to advise you on all of this," she continued. "I think Wyatt or Booth could give you the guidance you need for most of it. But as far as your physical appearance goes…."

Brennan moved closer to Sweets and held his hand again.

"Anthropologically speaking, there is a common tradition among many societies to revere men who survive great confrontations," she said. "Their scars were seen as proof of their bravery and their ability to survive in the face of death."

"Perhaps among tribal groups," Sweets sniffed. "But here…."

"I know that you have read Booth's file and as a result, you know about the many injuries he has received both in the Army and in the service of the FBI," she added. "I know that when I consider his injuries, I do not concern myself with the surface appearance of his scars, but instead focus on the good, strong, caring man who survived and who protected others."

"Booth's a warrior," Sweets wept. "I'm not. I got these scars because...because I'm too weak."

"Strength is not only measured in physical prowess," Brennan argued. "You could have easily died from the injuries that Jensen inflicted upon you. You survived partially because you have a great deal of fortitude. And I believe that Daisy will care more about that than any physical markers of what happened to you."

Overtaken by emotion and warm regard, Sweets reached over to embrace Brennan tightly. The anthropologist quickly returned the embrace.

"Thank you, Doctor Brennan," he sniffed, trying to rein in his tears.

"You're welcome, Doctor Sweets," Brennan said as she let him go. "I hope you enjoy your time with Daisy tomorrow…Now, would you like to go back to your room to get some rest or would you rather stay here?"

"Could I stay here for now?" he asked.

"Sure," Brennan said as she got up. She fetched a book from her shelves and sat down in a chair next to the couch. "I will read for a while. Feel free to lie down if you want."

Suddenly feeling very drowsy, Sweets did just that, pulling his blanket over himself as he did so. His eyes closed as soon as his head touched one of the pillows that was sitting on the end of the couch, and a few minutes later he was asleep. Brennan ended up reading for about thirty minutes before putting her book down and clearing the teapot and cups away. She decided to leave the lamp on for him and was about to walk out of the room when she found herself hesitating. She then checked on Sweets and adjusted his blanket so that it covered him better. Once she was satisfied with her work, she patted his arm.

"Good night, Sweets," she whispered before leaving the room.

Sweets did not awaken during any of this and managed to stay asleep for the rest of the night.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: Next chapter. I hope to pick up the pace of updates a little next week, but as usual, I just don't know...We'll see.

I do not own Bones or any of its characters.

Thank you to everyone who is reading/following/reviewing this.

**Rankor01: **You're right in thinking that I did not want to make this one of these stories where everything is all perfect and neatly sewn up in a couple of chapters. Something like this...I picture it being very difficult for him to recover from...I agree that Sweets seems to share traits with Brennan...with Booth as well. I think it's part of the reason the three of them are so close. And yes, considering how much both Sweets and Brennan love to quote from classic literature, it made sense to me too that they would relish being able to talk to another serious reader...As for Daisy, well I don't want to spoil things, but you're right in saying that things are not going to be easy for them at all.

**Lives in the now: **Thank you. I believe that the problem Sweets would face in this situation is the rather unrealistic expectation of being able to solve everything on his own. Fortunately, he's not going to have to actually do that...I agree that Brennan has a very warm, generous heart under all of her rationality would be eager to help Sweets recover from a situation like this.

**ASummer: **Thank you. Yeah, Brennan does have a way of getting right to the point. :D It's one of the great things about her. I hope you end up enjoying this sequel.

**D: **I agree that Sweets needs both Booth and Brennan to help him heal due to what each of them can bring to the table. Although, I think Brennan can be far more maternal than she often gives herself credit for. :) I also agree that Brennan is a good choice for Sweets to get some insight into Daisy...As for how Daisy is going to react to everything...hmmmm...

**Super Ario: **Thanks. Studying psychology myself, I have seen first-hand how often people expect people schooled in psychology to have all the answers to their own mental and emotional issues. The problem is though, it is very hard to maintain the right perspective to actually put that training into use in your own life. Given what Sweets has been through and how high his expectations seem to be for himself, I can see this being an even more problematic situation.

**Softballgirl05: **Thank you. :D I agree that adding Daisy to this will make things even more...interesting, so hopefully you'll enjoy this update. I have more than one writing project in mind right now, so don't be surprised to see more from me in the coming weeks...

**Ipizzlewizzle: **Glad to be back, thanks. :) This sequel will probably be another long one, but as I mentioned before, I hope that it won't take as long to write as TMotS did. Enjoy this new chapter.

**Peanutmeg: **Thanks for the review. There will be a lot going on in this sequel what with the case and Sweets trying to move on...so you are definitely right about this being a long, difficult road for him. I hope you enjoy the journey.

The Recovery in the Nocturne—Chapter 2

The next morning, Booth was knocking on Brennan's door. The agent had seen Brennan's car in the parking lot and was glad that he was able to catch her before she left with Sweets for the day.

"Bones, Sweets, you awake?" Booth called out after knocking on the door again. He rapped his knuckles against the door one last time and stopped when he heard movement from inside. A moment later the door opened with the anthropologist on the other side of it.

"What is it Booth?" she yawned. "Do we have a case?"

"No, no case," Booth said. "Wait, are you just now getting up?"

"I had problems sleeping last night so I decided to sleep in," Brennan said quietly. "Doctor Sweets needed some additional sleep too."

"You mean he's still asleep?" Booth asked, immediately lowering his voice as he came into the apartment. His question was soon answered, however, when he spotted the psychologist just starting to stir from under his blanket on the couch.

"He's been having more difficulty than usual sleeping for the past three nights," Brennan murmured. "He was resting so soundly last night that I thought that it would be best to not disturb him for as long as possible."

Booth watched as Sweets began to slowly blink his eyes open and instantly felt bad about waking him up, having seen first-hand how hard it had been for the past few weeks for the therapist to get any quality rest. But some of that guilt dissipated when Sweets looked his way and smiled drowsily.

"Good morning, Booth," he yawned while sitting up. "Is there a case?"

"Hey Sweets," Booth grinned back. "No case. Just a day of paperwork ahead of me. I thought that I'd take you and Bones out for breakfast, if you two hadn't eaten yet, so we can have some fun before a day of dull tedium."

"My day isn't going to be dull," Brennan protested. "The lab received a set of remains yesterday from a find that could prove to be from a Bronze Age site. And Sweets is meeting with Miss Wick later today, so I doubt that his day will be dull either."

"Ok fine, how about we enjoy some breakfast before I have to endure the dull tedium," Booth scowled playfully. "Up and at 'em Sweets."

"Ok," Sweets nodded while running a hand through his hair and stretching. He then got up from the couch and looked over at Brennan silently. Having lived with him for weeks now, Brennan understood the unspoken communication there.

"Oh go ahead and get ready in the bathroom first, if you would like," she said.

"Thank you," Sweets mumbled. He then walked over to his room to get some clothes for him to wear for the day. Brennan began to loosely fold up the blanket from the couch.

"Bones, what is it?" Booth said, noticing his partner's tense mood. "Did something happen last night with Sweets?"

"Sweets acts like he's scared about this meeting with Daisy," she said. "I don't understand. I thought that he would be happy to see her."

"I'm sure that he is," the agent insisted.

"He kept saying things last night like how he is worse now and was worried about how Daisy might react to the sight of his new scars," she continued. "Booth…it was as if he thought that he was too ugly or damaged physically for her to love."

"Here, let me help you with that," Booth said as he helped her drape the blanket onto the back of the couch. The anthropologist turned to see Sweets walking by them with some clothes on his arm. Once he was gone and they heard the bathroom door shut, Booth turned back toward her.

"Look Bones, he's just nervous is all," he said. "All of us, me, you, Angela, Cam, Hodgins…we've been here from the beginning of this, so we know what is going on and don't need anyone to explain it all to us. That's not the case with Daisy, and Sweets is just worried about how she's going to react to all of this. Plus, you remember what Wyatt said, right? That evil bastard Jensen really messed with his mind. Sweets is still trying to sort through all that. It's going to take time."

Brennan nodded as she laid the blanket down, and Booth took one of her hands into his.

"Hey, I'll talk to him for a few minutes while you get ready," he said. "I'll see if there's anything else that's going on there, all right?"

"Thank you," Brennan said, relief coloring her tone. "I tried talking to him last night, and told him that Miss Wick probably will not care about his scars. But I don't know how effective I was. I…I'm not sure of what is the right thing to say to him at times."

"Listen, Bones, you've been great with him through all this," Booth assured her. "During his last check up with Werner, I heard the doctor say that he's gotten a lot stronger since he's been staying with you. And all of us have noticed how relaxed he is while he's staying at your place. It's why he's here a lot longer than anywhere else. Whatever it is that you're doing, it's apparently what he needs right now."

"Thank you, Booth," she smiled. "Although you have also done a lot too. I have observed a direct correlation between when you spend the evening or the night with us and Sweets' overall condition. Any night that you have a meal with us, bring movies for us to watch, or just converse with us results in more sleep and fewer anxiety issues for Sweets."

"Thanks Bones, but it's all of us, ok?" the agent said. "Sweets is going to get better because all of us are working together to help him out." Booth paused, and Brennan noted the determination starting to shine in his eyes.

"Besides," he added. "I made a promise to Peter that I intend to keep." Brennan was about to ask him what it was that he promised when Sweets walked out of the bathroom. He was wearing a thick, dark navy blue sweater with black jeans. His curls were still damp from a shower. Brennan gave Booth a meaningful look that was not lost on either Booth or Sweets for that matter.

"I'll be ready in a few minutes," she said as she walked away, leaving the two of them alone.

"Doctor Brennan told you about last night, didn't she?" Sweets sighed as he plopped back down onto the couch. Booth winced and sat down beside him. Truthfully, he wasn't entirely comfortable with the possible directions that this conversation could take, but he knew that there were some things that Sweets just could not discuss with Brennan. Things that he wouldn't be able to discuss with most people…even if he needed to.

"Bones mentioned that you were a little anxious about seeing Daisy today," he replied. The psychologist fidgeted for a moment and then looked away.

"I'm sorry," Sweets whispered. "I know that you don't really want to discuss…any of that." Booth sighed and patted the therapist's arm.

"That's not the point, Sweets," he said. The point is that _you_ need to talk about it. So come on, what's bothering you?"

"I…I…." Sweets stopped and kept his gaze firmly fixed onto the carpet while Booth waited patiently for him to work up the courage to speak.

"Doctor Brennan said that Daisy won't care about my…about my scars," Sweets mumbled. "But I don't know how that could be. I mean, I look like a freak. Every time I look at them, all I can think about is…."

"I know," Booth said gently. "You think about how you got them and about the ugly things that happened to you. And you're sure that that is what other people see too." Sweets nodded still not looking up.

"Look, I know that it's not easy when you have physical reminders of what happened to you like that," the agent continued. "But I think Bones is right on this one. Whatever else she is, Daisy doesn't strike me as the superficial type who is going to walk away from you just because you now have a few more scars."

"But what if you're right?" Sweets asked. "What if she sees them, and she doesn't care? Then she's going to want to…She's…It's been six months since we've…been together. So she's probably thinking about…I mean, shouldn't I be thinking about the same thing?"

Booth winced again. He was pretty sure that Sweets had finally hit upon one of the things that was really worrying him, and it was one of the last things that Booth wanted to talk about with him. Still, Booth remembered how Wyatt had repeatedly encouraged all of them to get Sweets talking about anything that could be bothering him, so he pushed down as much discomfort as he could.

"Ever since I woke up at the hospital, I haven't really wanted to…I mean there really hasn't been any…desire, you know?" Sweets continued his face turning red. "I don't what I'll do if she wants to…and I can't…."

Watching the way that Sweets clasped shaking hands together while he stumbled to get the words out, Booth suddenly realized that just how difficult it was for the therapist to mention this at all let alone discuss it with him. Booth felt a pang of sorrow hit him at how nervous and distressed Sweets was over this and reached over to put an arm around Sweets' shoulders.

"Hey Sweets, what you're going through is not uncommon, all right?" Booth said. "When I was in the Army, I'd hear a lot of the guys brag about all the crazy stuff they were going to do with their wives or girlfriends once they got back to them. But after they get into some brutal combat situations…or worse yet, if they were captured and held by the enemy at some point….they would often be just as likely to want nothing more that to just be held by those wives and girlfriends while they tried to shut out the horror of what happened to them. Believe me, there's nothing wrong with you just because you're not…in the mood right now. And it doesn't mean that it's going to be this way forever."

Booth rubbed Sweets' shoulder and was happy when the psychologist was finally able to look up at him.

"When you see Daisy today, just let whatever happens happen," the agent told him. "And if things start to get, you know…and it turns out that you're not ready for that, don't beat yourself up over it. Just relax and stick with what's comfortable for you. I'm sure Daisy will understand."

The psychologist still did not look entirely convinced, but it was clear that he was relieved as a result of having the chance to talk this over and was far less tense than before.

"Thank you, Booth," he said, still blushing. Booth squeezed his shoulder one last time before standing up upon hearing Brennan walk into the room.

"Ok, so how about we all grab some breakfast now?" the agent said, clapping his hands together. "I'll even buy this time."

* * *

><p>A few minutes later, the three of them were sitting at a table in the Royal Diner, waiting for their food to arrive. While they waited, Booth and Brennan talked about recent cases that they had closed with the conversation eventually turning toward more personal topics which continued onward even after their breakfast arrived.<p>

Sweets occasionally joined in on the conversation when something was directed at him in particular, but for the most part he was content to just watch and listen to them while he slowly ate his plate of eggs, fruit and waffles. Both Booth and Brennan sometimes sent worried glances his way. It saddened all of them how reluctant Sweets was participate in most of their discussions these days unless he could talk to someone alone, despite the reassurances they got from Wyatt that this would eventually pass. It didn't help that they were also trying to eat a meal, and Sweets was only eating about half of what was in front of him.

After Sweets' last doctor's visit, Werner informed all them that Sweets was still about ten pounds underweight and asked them to be on the lookout for any developing flu or colds since they could turn into something serious in his weakened condition.

None of this was heartening news for them to hear. They already knew that Sweets was still struggling with depression, panic attacks and insomnia and this only added to their concerns. Plus, they were recently dismayed to discover that Sweets had no desire to go anywhere alone and only felt comfortable going to a select set of destinations with someone accompanying him. As a result, his surroundings varied little over the past few weeks, and they were starting to worry that Sweets could become increasingly agoraphobic over time.

Booth frowned at the way the psychologist was continuing to pick at his food and was about to encourage him to eat more when his cell phone rang.

"Booth," he said after pulling it out. The agent was quiet for about a minute before nodding. "Ok, we'll be there as soon as possible." Booth hung up the phone and grabbed at his coffee mug.

"We have a case," he said between gulps.

"I'll need to stop by the lab to get my things," Brennan said as she finished what was on her plate.

"That works," Booth replied. "I figured that we could drop Sweets off there and you could get the stuff you needed for the crime scene." He then turned toward Sweets. "If that is ok with you."

"I was planning on meeting Daisy in Doctor Brennan's office later this afternoon anyway," the psychologist said. "So that's fine for me."

"Great," Booth said as he scooped up the rest of his eggs into this mouth. "You kids have fun tonight while Bones and I solve this case."

* * *

><p>A few hours after Booth had dropped Sweets off at the Medico-Legal lab, the therapist was lightly dozing on the couch in Brennan's office.<p>

After leaving the hospital, Wyatt had recommended to the others that Sweets not be left alone for long periods of time, and as a result, Sweets usually accompanied Brennan to the lab. Sweets knew that he could not go near the forensic platform, but everyone tried to make him feel as welcome as possible while he was there.

Sweets filled many of the hours that he was there with reading or wandering around the gardens on the grounds of the Jeffersonian as best he could. Other times he would hang around Angela's office to visit with her or would sit on the balcony overlooking the forensic platforms so that he could share some coffee and conversation with either Cam or Hodgins when they had time. Often, the therapist retreated to Brennan's office for either a nap or to give himself some quiet time alone. When lunch time rolled around, everyone took turns taking Sweets out to eat or sharing a meal with him on the balcony so as to spend some additional time with him alone.

Despite all of their efforts to include him, however, Sweets was frequently left with a lot of time to himself and he found that he couldn't shake off the feeling that he was next to useless to the team now.

Bored and frustrated at having nothing to really challenge his mind, recently Sweets had taken to exploring the rest of the Jeffersonian so that he could educate himself. At first he often needed assistance since his cast hindered his mobility, a task that one of the others or even Wendell or Arastoo would often help out with. But now that the cast was gone, Sweets was free to spend as much time as he wanted to study and learn about the many artifacts and exhibits that were on display at the Jeffersonian.

It was after one of these explorations that Sweets ended up where he was now, napping on Brennan's couch. He had just spent a couple of hours in the Egyptian section and was already exhausted from all of his walking around. As a result, he fell asleep almost as soon as his he settled in to lie down.

Having been directed there by one of the lab technicians, Daisy walked over to Brennan's office and went inside. She found Sweets asleep and smiled as she crept over and knelt down beside him on the floor. She sat there quietly and watched him slumber for a couple of minutes before deciding to pounce on him and give him a hug.

"Lancelot," she squealed gleefully. "I missed you so much."

The response from Sweets, however, was far from what Daisy had envisioned. The psychologist's eyes flew open and he yelped while shoving Daisy aside and jumping off the couch. Once he saw who it was, Sweets slumped back down onto the couch, his eyes wide and fearful.

"Don't….don't do that," he gasped. "Don't ever do that again."

"Lance, I…I'm sorry," she stammered out. Sweets stared at her for a few more seconds before leaning forward and putting his head into his hands. He remained silent for a moment while he worked to calm his breathing.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I…I didn't mean to snap at you." Daisy got up and joined him on the couch.

"It's ok, baby," she said. "I know that…well with what you've been through…I know that it hasn't been easy for you, and I am sorry that I scared you."

Sweets couldn't help but smile a little even though his insides were still quaking. Her words and methods of showing affection might be clumsy, but in this moment, all that the cared about was the fact that she loved him.

He reached over and grabbed one of her hands, his face still downcast. He hadn't even realized how much he really had missed her until just now when he could feel the touch of her hand and listen to the sound of her voice.

Daisy scooted over to him and gingerly wrapped her arms around him while resting her head against his chest. Sweets immediately responded by placing his own arms around her and holding her close. The two of them then sank down into the couch that way.

"I'm so sorry, Lancelot," she whispered into his ear. Sweets gulped and felt fresh tears rush to his eyes. He knew that she was apologizing for far more than startling him a few moments ago, and while on the surface such an apology seemed trite in the face of everything he had gone through these last few months, all that mattered to Sweets was the sentiment behind it.

Tears spilled out of his eyes, and Daisy moved to hold him against her while he wept. Sweets clung to her for a while in the hope that she could bring some solace to his shattered soul.


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note: Next chapter. Sorry about all the delays on my The Incandescence in the Reflection story. I will have another chapter of that up by the end of the week.

I do not own Bones or any of its characters.

Thank you to everyone who is reading/following/reviewing this.

**Super Ario: **Sorry. But this one is going to get darker at times. Fair warning...

**Rankor01: **See, this is unfortunately something I have noticed in Daisy over the last season or so, I don't think she always grasps the issues that Sweets grapples with and could easily see her not knowing what to do here. Still, I do think she means well at times, thus why I wanted to show that aspect of her as well...I agree that she will have to make some difficult choices as far as her relationship with Sweets goes...I also agree that inactivity and brooding are bad things for Sweets to be caught up in. But fortunately, there are those who are trying to find ways to help out with that...

**D: **Agreed. I don't always know what to expect out of Daisy anymore either ever since Season Four. But I think she tries her best at times and thus I could see her reacting this way...I agree that Booth will need to open up more about his own torture, but then again so will Sweets. At this point it's more of a matter of what will be the push the two them need to take that step...

**SaveMeOrBreakMe: **Thank you for the review. Well, Daisy is not going to be the main focus of this story, so don't worry, you're not going to get overloaded with her. :) She's going to be more of a side character for the most part. Hopefully this chapter will ease that feeling a little.

**Lives in the now:** Thank you. I often worry about getting Daisy right in my work because even though I also can get very annoyed with her, I still would like to keep her IC. I hope you enjoy this update as well.

**LovesReidForever: **Thank you very much for the review. :) I like to incorporate the psychology element in my work partially because of Sweets' profession and partially because, like you, I find it to be a fascinating part of the show that I sometimes wish could be explored more. Oh and I think you will find (no matter how far you are in your psych studies) that that feeling of being aware of certain psych concepts in your life while still struggling with them isn't going to go away...

**Peanutmeg: **Thank you for the review. Expect to see more heart-to-heart conversations with the entire Jeffersonian team in the future. :) And yes, I believe that Daisy would try to comfort Sweets in the face of something like this. The question becomes how far is she willing to go to assist Sweets in this process.

The Recovery in the Nocturne—Chapter 3

After they had dropped off Sweets at the Jeffersonian and picked up a few things for Brennan, Booth and the anthropologist made their way out to the crime scene, which was on the outskirts of DC.

A body had been found in a storage locker by the manager of the facility that housed it. The manager, a man named William Tuttle, had been getting ready to auction off the contents of the locker because the person renting the locker had not paid his rent for over three months.

Booth parked his SUV and then he and Brennan started walking over toward the body.

"How long had the body been stored here?" Brennan asked.

"According to the local detective that I talked to on the phone, the manager hadn't seen anyone go near that locker for at least two months," Booth replied. "It was being rented by a Mr. Daniel Hoffman. Tuttle, the manager, was going to try to get back some of the back rent he was owed by selling off Hoffman's stuff in one of those blind storage locker auctions."

"A practical idea that he should probably use on the contents of most of these lockers here actually," Brennan nodded.

"What do you mean, Bones?"

"Well clearly this man had too many possessions, thus why he had to store so many of them here," the anthropologist answered.

"Not everyone has a spacious living space like you do," Booth replied. "Maybe the guy just ran out of room for his things at wherever he is living now. Sometimes people need a place to put their extra stuff."

"But obviously these are not things that he placed a high value on," Brennan replied. "He must not have needed any sort of regular access to these possessions or how else could a body be stored here for so long without anyone noticing?"

"You have a point there," Booth conceded. His mind, however, had been distracted by some new questions that were starting to form.

'_Why didn't anyone notice a body in there before now?' _he wondered. '_These lockers aren't exactly air-tight. Wouldn't there have been a smell or something from a body decomposing? Why did it take so long for anyone to report anything?'_

"Our society places an unnecessary emphasis on having a large amount of possessions as a way to prove a person's success," Brennan continued. "As a result, greater meaning is attached to relatively worthless objects simply because they exist together in a large quantity."

"Yeah well, I doubt that whoever this is cares that much about all of these things either," Booth said as they approached the body.

Brennan walked over and crouched down next to some remains that were a combination of bones and discolored flesh. The locker it was stored in was filled with cardboard boxes, many of which were overflowing with items. Flies buzzed about while Brennan examined the body on the cement floor. The anthropologist reached into her pocket and pulled out a small flashlight so that she could better see the corpse while in the shade of the interior of the storage unit.

"Male, middle-aged," she mumbled as she stared at the body. "Huh."

"Huh? What do you mean 'huh?" Booth asked as he swatted at some flies. Brennan put on a pair of gloves and reached down to tilt the skull toward her slightly.

"Severe trauma to the right parietal area of the skull," she said. "Probably fatal. More than likely this was murder."

"Yeah, murder," Booth said. "I got that from the fact that someone stashed this guy in a storage locker." The agent then pulled out a flashlight of his own and shined it around the locker, eventually focusing a beam of light onto a corner of the floor.

"What about those dead rats over there?" Booth asked.

"Possibly they were trapped in here and devoured some of the flesh before they died," Brennan said. "We will need to have them sent back to the Jeffersonian."

"Hey Bones, do you think that something in here could have been used to bash in this guy's skull?" Booth said. "I mean, throwing the murder weapon into this pile of junk would have been a great way to hide it."

"I see what you mean," Brennan nodded as she looked up to survey the rest of the storage unit. "We should have the entire contents of this place sent back to the lab along with the remains."

"Ok you heard her," Booth said as he spun toward the crime scene techs and agents at the scene. "Once she's finished here, this all goes back to the Jeffersonian." The agent then turned back toward Brennan.

"I'm going to go have a talk with the staff here," Booth said. "Then I'm going to track down the guy who was renting this locker and see if he has any explanation for why there's a dead person stored here with his 'meaningless, excessive possessions'."

"Ok, bye Booth," Brennan said as she continued to study the remains.

* * *

><p>A few hours later over at the Hoover Building, Booth looked at his stacks of notes and files that were on his desk with frustration.<p>

After leaving Brennan with the body, Booth had herded all of the staff that was present into the Tuttle's office so that he could talk with them as a group. Most of the employees had only been with the company for two months or less due to an unusually high turnover rate. As a result, Booth ended up dismissing all of them except Tuttle and focused his time on him. Booth soon regretted it, however, when Tuttle turned out to be about as unhelpful as the rest of them were, especially when the subject of how a body went unnoticed for so long came up.

"_Look pal, stuff like that is the responsibility of the cleaning crew, ok?" _the man had snapped at Booth. "_I'm up to my neck everyday with paperwork, phone calls, payroll and insurance crap along with having to deal with all these dead beats who think that they can just get away with not paying their rent for their units. I don't have time to micromanage and make sure my employees are, you know, actually doing their jobs on top of all that."_

Booth looked over the notes he had taken during his interview with Tuttle one more time. The man had struck him as a typical, inept middle-manager type who was more than likely the reason for the high turnover rate at the storage facility. Still, something felt…off or more accurately forced about his answers so the agent gave Tuttle the usual warnings about not leaving town during a murder investigation.

Booth then put his focus on finding Hoffman. The file that the FBI had been able to compile on him mainly turned up some DUI convictions along with an involuntary manslaughter charge which had been abruptly thrown out of court due to procedural error and a lack of evidence. All in all, it painted the picture of Hoffman being a drunk, but not a murderer. Despite that, Booth knew that he could not take Hoffman lightly and went ahead to his apartment after getting the address from Tuttle.

Once he got there, the landlord took Booth upstairs to Hoffman's apartment, telling the agent along the way about his intent to evict the man.

"_I've put up with that jerk for the past three years now,"_ the landlord grumbled as they made their way up the stairs. "_He was always blasting his music in the middle of the night. Almost always late with the rent payments, even though I know he makes plenty at that brokerage firm he works at. And now he skips out on paying his rent for three months. I'm not putting up with it anymore. That bastard is out once he shows his face again."_

"_So you haven't cleaned out his apartment yet?" _Booth had asked.

"_You kidding? I don't want nothing to do with that pigsty," _the landlord had scoffed. "_Besides, he has done this kind of thing before. You know, not showing up for about a month or so. I figured he'd be back any time now with the same excuses he always gives me when he's late with the rent. He thinks that he can just throw some extra money my way and I'll forget about all the hassles he has given me. Well not anymore."_

The landlord opened up Hoffman's apartment for Booth to examine and then promptly left him. The agent found little useful there. Everything from the pile of past due bills that had been shoved under the door to the molding food in the refrigerator indicated that Hoffman had not been here in a long while. The one interesting fact that Booth had discovered was that Hoffman's closet and dresser were still full of clothes and that there were a pile of suitcases still sitting on the top shelf of the closet.

'_If Hoffman killed the guy in the storage unit, then he probably did not plan ahead,' _Booth mused as he sat in his office chair and sipped at his coffee. '_He probably panicked and left town as soon as he realized what he had done. This was probably a spur of the moment crime.'_

After he had finished at the apartment, Booth had stopped by the brokerage firm where Hoffman worked, but that also proved to be a waste of time. Everyone who worked there had mentioned that Hoffman showed up for work every day and then promptly left at closing time. He did not have a notable work record and he did not socialize at all with anyone at work.

Booth sat his coffee mug down and stood up so that he could put his suit jacket back on. The picture that was starting to form in Booth's mind about Hoffman was of a rather unremarkable man whose main talent was being a pain in the ass to most everyone he knew. The problem with that, however, was the fact that there was virtually no one who knew where Hoffman might have gone, giving Booth next to nothing to work with as far as locating him.

Seeing as he was coming up dry as far as leads go, Booth decided to head over to the lab to see if Brennan had made any progress.

* * *

><p>Booth walked in the doors to find Brennan and Cam standing over the body on the forensic platform.<p>

"So what do you have for me Bones?" he said after swiping his card and walking up the stairs to join them.

"Cause of death was definitely caused by a blow to the head," the anthropologist answered.

"I concur," Cam said. "A hit like that probably drove bits of bone into the brain. Plus there seems to be no other signs of trauma on the body other than some bite marks on the flesh."

"What? You mean that someone was gnawing on the guy?" Booth asked. "Like some kind of cannibal serial killer?"

"No more like the rats we found in the storage unit," Brennan said.

"Why didn't you just say that in the first place? Geez," Booth said. Smiles from both Cam and Brennan almost prompted another snarky reply from Booth when a thought stopped him.

"Hey, why didn't those rats…you know…eat more of him?" the agent asked. "Did something in the victim kill them?"

"That is a good question," Cam replied. "I'll run a tox screen on some tissue samples."

"What about a murder weapon?" Booth inquired.

"Angela and Hodgins are looking for it right now," Brennan answered as she motioned toward the other side of the platform. "The weapon was very unusual and left distinct marks on the flesh and bone. I have never seen anything like it."

Booth walked over toward the stacks of boxes and found Angela and Hodgins sorting through the contents of an open one on one of the tables.

"Hey, is Sweets still around?" Booth asked them.

"Sweets left with Daisy a couple of hours ago," Angela smiled. "They looked happy to see each other, if you know what I mean."

"Yeah, I get the picture," Booth said waving her off, even though he was pleased that Sweets had been able to be happy at the reunion. "So did you two find anything?"

"Perhaps every single stupid novelty item that ever existed," the artist sighed. "This guy must have had the worst taste in the world."

"Pet rocks, lava lamps, framed velvet Elvis pictures and a "moonie" doll," Hodgins chimed in. "You know, one of those figures that drop their pants when you squeeze this…."

"I know what a "moonie" figure is," Booth interrupted.

"Along with copious stacks of porn and dirty joke books," Angela added. "My guess is that unless this guy was smoking hot, he wasn't getting any."

"What about an ID on our victim?" Booth asked.

"I have the computer searching for a match with the dentals in the missing persons database," Angela said. "In fact, I might have something by now. I'll go check and see."

"Hey look," Hodgins said as she started to walk away. "He had one of those "big mouth bass" singing fish. Talk about tacky."

The entomologist held up a plastic fish that was mounted to a piece of faux wood, a large button being what started the fish singing and thrashing. Angela rolled her eyes and resumed her walking.

"Of course he would have that," she mumbled as she headed toward her office.

"Hey my Uncle Stan had one of these," Booth said. "He was a fun guy. Sort of."

Hodgins laughed and was about to set the thing aside when something caught his eye.

"Hey wait a minute," he said. "Is that blood?"

Brennan looked over at him and began to stare at the dark brownish, reddish stain that covered a large portion of the plastic fish's tail. The anthropologist took it from Hodgins and turned the decoration around in her hands.

"I would need to strip the flesh from the bones to get a definite match," she said. "But this could very well be the murder weapon. The grooves on the tail match the marks on the skull."

"Wait, are you telling me that this guy was killed with that thing?" Booth said, pointing at the fish in her hands. "What kind of a person kills someone with a novelty decoration?"

"Apparently not Daniel Hoffman," Angela said as she rejoined them on the platform. She handed a file to both Booth and Cam before going over to the computer and pulling up Hoffman's information on the monitor. "Dentals came back with a match for our victim. Hoffman had been reported missing by his supervisor."

"So Hoffman was killed and stashed in his own storage unit for safe keeping?" the pathologist said as she scanned the file.

"Guess this explains why Booth couldn't find him," Hodgins nodded.

"So now the question is, who put him there?" Angela added.

Booth started to mull over this question when his cell phone started to ring. Thinking that it could be news from the Bureau, he immediately pulled it out.

"Booth," he answered. As the agent listened, his eyes grew wide, and his jaw started to hang open; causing everyone else there to stare at him with concern.

"Thank you," Booth said quietly. "I'll…I'll be right there." He slowly put the cell phone back into his pocket.

"What is it?" Brennan asked.

"That was the hospital," Booth replied. "Sweets was just taken to the emergency room."


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: Next chapter. Don't worry, this one won't end on such a cliffhanger. :)

I do not own Bones or any of its characters.

Thank you to everyone who is reading/following/reviewing this. It is always appreciated.

**Peanutmeg: **Thank you. Something about the idea of killing someone with one of those singing fish just clicked for me. It wouldn't be the weirdest weapon I've seen on Bones. :D As for Daisy...well nothing will come easily in this fic and that includes anything to do with her. And as for Sweets, all will be answered (sort of) in this chapter.

**Lives in the now: **Thanks. Much like with TIitR, I am trying to go for a more "canon-feel" for the cases, thus why the lab scenes. I hope to weave this case throughout the entirety of this fic. Time will tell as far as Daisy goes.

**Maddog1997: **Thank you. I am glad that you enjoyed the rest of my work and I hope you will enjoy this update as well...

**Super Ario: **Well hopefully this was fast enough for you. ;) But I think you will find that there will be plenty more times when you will be left with more questions than answers before this fic is through.

**Rankor01: **Yeah, I always thought that those singing fish were kind of creepy myself. I've seen more than one horror film that featured a dead, mounted fish coming back to life and thrashing about, so I fail to see the amusement of one that sings. ;) As for your guesses...well you tend to nail things a little too often... :)

**D: **I'd have to say post-season four (and definitely post season five) that I agree with you. What started out as a quirky character has become a little too manipulative for my tastes as well. I suppose I could always hope that HH and Co. will eventually change that...Sadly, I think you will find this chapter will "disappoint" on two of your predictions, sorry to say...

**Lovesreidforever: **Don't worry. In the words of Avalon, "everything works out in the end" in my fics. It's just the getting there that's hard...

The Recovery in the Nocturne—Chapter 4

Everyone at the lab rushed to Booth's SUV and let the agent use his siren so that they could get to the hospital as fast as they could. Once they arrived there, they immediately went toward the waiting area of the emergency room to find Daisy sitting by herself. The intern was dabbing her eyes with a tissue when she saw the others coming toward her.

"What happened?" Booth demanded. "How is he?"

"What have the doctors said?" Hodgins asked.

"I…I don't know," Daisy sniffed. "I don't know what happened or what is going on now. I…." Daisy started to cry again and Brennan sat down next to her, placing a hand onto the intern's shoulder. Booth sat on the other side of Brennan while the rest of them huddled in front of them.

"Tell me what happened exactly," Brennan said. Daisy blew her nose and took a deep breath before responding.

"Well…Lance and I met at your office," she said. "We stayed there for a while. We didn't talk much then. He seemed to just want me to hold him. Eventually we decided to go get some lunch together. He was so quiet, and I noticed that he didn't eat very much. Are you sure that he's getting enough nutrition right now? Because it looks like he is about twelve kilograms thinner than when I last saw him."

"Daisy," Booth interrupted. "You really need to get to the point here."

"Oh, sure," she sniffed again. "Anyway, after we were done with lunch, we went back to Lance's apartment so that we could spend some time together alone. So that we could talk and…well, you know…it's been six months after all."

"I think we get the picture, Miss Wick," Cam nodded.

"We were in his room and at first things were going well," Daisy said with a lopsided smile. "But then he started to act strangely when I helped him with his clothes. He became very shaky and nervous. I told him not to worry about it and that it was ok. I told him to just relax and let me…um, take charge…since he is still recovering and all."

Almost everyone there was embarrassed at the direction this narrative was heading by this point and many of them had taken to looking away from Daisy and developing red faces. But their worry over Sweets' condition won out over any discomfort they had and thus, they did not stop her from continuing.

"I…I started to touch him and his eyes dilated and he started to hyperventilate," Daisy said, the tears returning. "I kept asking him what was wrong, but then he started crying and begging me to stop…even though I wasn't doing anything by that point. Then he started choking and I called 911. I tried to get him to calm down, but it was as if he couldn't hear or see me anymore. By the time the paramedics arrived, his lips had turned purple and his cheeks had traces of blue to them, indicating that he wasn't getting enough oxygen. I…I was so scared."

Daisy began to cry harder, and Brennan placed one of her hands over Daisy's.

"Doctor Brennan, what is wrong with him?" she wept. "What is wrong with my Lancelot?" Brennan opened her mouth to speak, but then looked over to Booth for assistance. Just then a doctor, who was holding some charts and paperwork, stepped into the room.

"Family of Lance Sweets?" he said. The group immediately turned and walked over to him.

"How is he?" Booth asked.

"Mr. Sweets is doing well now," the doctor answered. "When he was brought in, his breathing was severely impaired due to his trachea constricting to the point of almost closing. Plus, he seemed to be extremely agitated emotionally."

"Listen Doctor," Booth said. "Doctor Sweets…he recently went through a traumatic experience. I can give you the name and number of the physician who is currently treating him, Doctor Leslie Werner."

"I gathered that something catastrophic had happened to him recently when I saw evidence of numerous injuries that had or were healing when I examined him," the doctor nodded. "Also, Doctor Werner was listed in his emergency contacts along with a Special Agent Seeley Booth and Doctor Temperance Brennan. I have already spoken to Doctor Werner, and she has informed me of the situation."

"Will he be all right?" Brennan asked.

"Yes," the doctor replied. "We gave him a mild sedative and put him on oxygen for a time, and he seems to have calmed down considerably and is breathing normally now. Our main concern at this point is that he isn't speaking. There seems to be no physical cause for it, but we were only able to gauge his responsiveness by asking him some 'yes' and 'no' questions to which he will either nod or shake his head. Other than that, he is unwilling to communicate. He also seems to be rather "detached" right now emotionally."

"Can we see him?" Booth asked.

"You are Agent Booth, correct?" the doctor said. "And one of you is Doctor Brennan?"

"I am Doctor Brennan," the anthropologist said. "He is Booth."

"Doctor Werner recommended that I release Doctor Sweets into your care as soon as he was able to leave," the physician replied. "And I believe that he can leave at any time now. I just ask that you help him to remain calm and keep his activity level low for the next couple of days. Also, I would recommend that he follow up with Doctor Werner here soon, just in case there is something else in play here."

"Thank you, Doctor," Cam said.

The doctor nodded and proceeded to give them some paperwork that needed to be filled out before the psychologist could be released along with directions to the room he was currently in. Cam took the papers and a pen which were attached to a clipboard, and almost everyone started to walk down the hallway. Everyone except Daisy. The others quickly noticed this and turned toward her.

"Miss Wick? Aren't you coming?" Brennan asked while Angela and Hodgins glowered at her.

"I…I don't know," Daisy whimpered. "Lance was so freaked out before…Maybe I should just wait to talk to him when he's feeling better."

"Daisy, Sweets needs you now," Angela said. "Can't you see that? He needs to know that you're going to support him through this."

"But I don't even know what 'this' is," Daisy whined. "Lance won't tell me. None of you will tell me. I was just trying to spend some time with him, and he ends up in the hospital. How am I supposed to know how to help him, if I don't even know what is going on or what I did wrong?"

Booth walked over toward the intern, his features stern with worry and irritation.

"Daisy, this is not about you," he said. "It's about Sweets and what he needs. I know that Bones told you about what happened, and quite frankly, it's up to Sweets to decide how much more he is going to tell you about it. It's not our place to make that decision for him. But for right now, you need to go in there and let him know that you're going to stand by him no matter what."

"Ok," Daisy warbled. Booth nodded and they all resumed walking with the intern finally trailing behind them.

* * *

><p>Within a few moments, they reached the room where Sweets was resting and Cam walked over and pulled back the privacy curtain that separated the psychologist's bed from others in the room. There they found Sweets lying on his back, his face turned away from them. He was wearing a hospital gown and a plastic ID bracelet and had almost covered himself completely with the blankets on the bed. His face was ashen and eerily expressionless. He looked over at them when he first heard them approaching, but swiftly went back to staring at a wall.<p>

"Sweets, are you feeling better now?" Brennan asked. The therapist nodded in response while still not looking at her.

"You gave us quite a scare, Sweets," Cam smiled at him while reaching for his hand. The pathologist squeezed his fingers, but they remained slack in her grip.

"Hey Sweets, we're just glad that you're ok," Angela said as she moved closer to him. Hodgins moved to stand beside her and reached down to pat his shoulder.

"The good news is that you don't have to stay here," the entomologist said. "The doctor cleared you to leave as soon as you want. You can go back to Doctor B's or you can spend a couple of days with Ange and me."

"Whatever you want," Angela added. The psychologist nodded again, his eyes distant. Booth then nudged Daisy slightly and the rest of them moved out of the way so that she could approach the bed.

"Lance," she nearly whispered as she crouched down closer to him. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. Please look at me, baby."

Sweets' eyes finally moved to meet hers with a watery, vacant stare.

"I still love my Lancelot," she sniffed. She then leaned over and gave him a light kiss to the lips and ran her fingers through his hair.

"I'll stay with you tonight if you would like," she said. "Would you like to stay with me, Lancelot?"

Sweets looked back down at the bed sheet and shook his head ever so slightly. Daisy immediately stood back up and rushed out of the room with tears brimming in her eyes again. Startled by the scene, both Cam and Angela rushed off after her.

Booth grimaced as he watched them go, but was careful to regain a relaxed expression once he moved to sit next to the bed and looked back over at the therapist.

"Ok Sweets, the doctor said that you can leave, so why don't we take care of that now," the agent said. "Where are your clothes?" The psychologist shook his head in response.

"Perhaps he wasn't wearing any when he was brought in," Brennan said. Sweets nodded his head, and Booth heaved a sigh.

'_Great. They must have been right in the middle of…it…when Daisy had to call for an ambulance. And of course, she wouldn't have been able to get him dressed before the EMTs came,' _he mused. '_As if what happened wasn't humiliating enough for him already.'_

Booth dug around in his pocket and pulled out his keys after standing up from the chair.

"All right, I'll run by your place and get you some things to wear," he told the therapist. "You just stay here and relax while Bones gets you checked out."

The agent started to leave when Sweets' arm shot out and grabbed his arm. Booth looked down to see Sweets' hand grip his forearm, the fingers shaking a little. He then sighed and looked over at Hodgins.

"Hey Hodgins," he said, tossing him the keys with his free hand. "You think you could run by Sweets' place and pick up some things for him to wear? Take Angela with you if you need to. In fact, while you're at it, get some extra clothes for us to take back to Bones' place. He'll probably need them."

"Ok," Hodgins nodded. "We'll meet you back here." He then reached down and patted Sweets' shoulder again.

"I'll see you in a little while, Sweets," the entomologist said. "And hey, we meant it about you spending some time with us this weekend. Angela has some art that she's been working on that she'd like to show you, and she was thinking of making another batch of her fabulous paella. At least think about it anyway."

Sweets nodded in response, and Hodgins backed out of the room and took off down the hallway. After he was gone, Booth sat back down in his chair while Brennan picked up the paperwork that Cam had left behind and pulled up a chair to sit beside Booth.

"All right, Sweets, Bones and I are going to stay right here with you until Hodgins gets back," Booth said. He then moved the therapist hand away from his arm and placed on the bed, making sure to cover it with one of his own.

"Then we'll get you back to her place and the three of us can have dinner," he continued. "Hey, Bones can make her terrific mac and cheese with some salad, and I'll buy us some of that rotisserie chicken from that place down the road. How does that sound?"

Sweets nodded again while looking over at them at last, his eyes shiny with unshed tears.

"If you would like, we could even watch another movie tonight," Brennan said. "I recently purchased one of my favorite films: _The Mummy_."

"I thought you said that you didn't know who Brendan Fraser was," Booth said, furrowing his brow at her.

"I don't," she replied. "This movie features Boris Karloff in a moving performance as the mummy from the title, although I still prefer Chaney's mummy."

"Karloff? That's the old black and white movie," Booth said.

"Give it a chance, Booth," Brennan said. "After all, it is the film that got me interested in anthropology."

"_The Mummy_? Really Bones?" Booth sighed. "Why is it that whenever I let you pick the movie, you always choose something from before 1970? Didn't your dad ever take you to a movie theater when you were a kid?"

"My father has an excellent taste in film," Brennan said. "It just so happens that many of these great films were made back in the earlier days of cinema."

Booth started to protest again when he happened to look back down at Sweets. The psychologist was watching the two of them, but more importantly, he no longer appeared to be on the verge of bursting into tears at any moment.

"You know what? Fine, we'll go with that," Booth said. "Why not? I mean how can I miss out on the chance to watch the movie that made you into a squint?"

Out of the corner of his eyes, Booth could see the faintest trace of a smile on the psychologist's lips. Both he and Brennan smiled back at him while pushing their chairs closer to the bed.

"That's what we'll do then," the agent grinned. "We'll whip up some dinner real quick and then we'll watch this movie together. We'll make a whole evening of it."

"What Booth is saying is that we will stay with you tonight," Brennan said. "We won't leave you alone."

Sweets nodded again and slowly turned onto his side so that he could be closer to the two of them. The three of them then sat together silently while they waited for Hodgins to return.

* * *

><p>About four hours later, the three of them were back at Brennan's apartment, with Booth and Brennan sitting together at the table, sharing some wine and Sweets asleep on the couch.<p>

After Hodgins returned and Brennan finished up with the paperwork to obtain Sweets' release from the hospital, everyone piled into Booth's SUV to drop Brennan and Sweets back at her apartment. There Sweets laid down on the couch while Brennan made some phone calls and read some emails from the lab on her laptop. Meanwhile Booth returned everyone else back to the lab, and on the way, Cam mentioned that she had seen Daisy get into a cab at the hospital before she and Angela could stop her. After dropping them off, Booth ran by his place to get a few things so that he could spend the night at the anthropologist's apartment and picked up the food for their meal.

Once he got back to Brennan's apartment, the three of them enjoyed an intimate meal with Booth and Brennan handling all of the conversation while Sweets listened. They then moved to sit in the front room so they could watch the movie.

"All right," Brennan had said as she slipped the DVD into the player under her TV. "Let's get this film onto a well traveled thoroughfare."

"You mean, get this show on the road?" Booth teased as he sat down on the couch.

"That's what I said," Brennan frowned as she sat down beside him with Sweets sitting on the other side of Booth. "Oh, the movie is starting."

They then watched the movie quietly and by the end of it, Sweets' eyelids were drooping. Booth and Brennan got off of the couch and helped Sweets to lie back down, making sure to cover him with the same blanket that they had left on the back of the couch from that morning. It was then that they went to the table to open a bottle of wine.

"Booth, do you think that Miss Wick is lying about what happened to Sweets?" Brennan asked between sips.

"No," Booth replied. "She's an even worse liar than Sweets. I'm thinking that everything happened pretty much like she said it did."

"If that is the case, then why did Sweets react that way?" Brennan wondered. "Even factoring in his recent traumas, Sweets' response to Daisy's sexual advances seem pretty extreme. And now he isn't speaking to anyone."

"I don't know, Bones," the agent said. "But I'm betting that it has something to do with what happened to him while Jensen had him. There is probably a lot that was done to Sweets that we don't know about yet."

"But we do know," she protested. "We saw Sweets' medical reports that Doctor Werner wrote. They cataloged all of the injuries that Sweets sustained."

"Medical reports don't tell the whole story," Booth said. "There was probably a whole lot more going on there than just the physical violence that he suffered. And sometimes…sometimes some of the worst forms of torture do not leave a single mark on a person…At least not ones that can be easily seen."

"I will concede that there is some truth to your statement," Brennan said. "But now that Sweets is refusing to talk to any of us, how can we help him? How will we know what do to for him?"

"Give him time, Bones," Booth responded. "Stuff like this…it's not easy to talk about, ok? Sweets will talk when he's ready. I'm sure of that. I don't think that this whole 'silent treatment' thing is going to last that long. He's probably just in shock right now, and once he is over it, he'll start speaking again. Besides, I'm taking him to go see Gordon Gordon tomorrow for his weekly meeting. I'm sure that he'll figure out how to help Sweets. But just so you'll know now, I'll need you to pick up Sweets when he is done."

"Why?"

"Because I'm thinking about tracking down some of the former employees from that storage company," the agent answered. "Something about that whole thing still doesn't feel right to me."

"Ok," Brennan said. "I hope that Chef Wyatt can help him."

"Me too, Bones," Booth murmured. He started to say something else, but was interrupted by a sound from the couch. They both got up and went back to the front room to find Sweets still asleep, but also starting to thrash about under his blanket.

"Please…please don't," he slurred out, sweat starting to roll down his brow. "No…No…." Booth took him by the shoulders and shook him gently.

"Wake up, Sweets," he insisted. "You're just having a nightmare."

"What you are experiencing is not real," Brennan added. "Please wake up now."

Booth gave him a slightly harder shake, and Sweets bolted upright and screamed. His eyes finally opened, and he began to struggle frantically to get out of Booth's grip.

"Hey, hey Sweets, it's ok. It's ok," Booth assured him hurriedly. "It's just us. Me and Bones. You're safe."

Comprehension soon made its way into Sweets eyes and he stopped struggling, choosing instead to slump down and hang his head. Booth let him go, and he and Brennan watched as the therapist's shoulders started to shake while he made a strangled sobbing sound. The two of them sat down on either side of Sweets on the couch. Brennan tried to put her arm around Sweets' shoulders, but the psychologist shuddered and jerked away.

"Hey Sweets, don't be like that," Booth said. "We're here for you, all right?"

"If you don't want to talk to us about what happened or about anything else for the moment, that is acceptable," Brennan said. "But we would still like to help you. What happened today has not changed that."

The psychologist gripped the cushions of the couch while he silently wept. At first he shook his head, but then he finally relented and leaned toward Brennan so that she could embrace him. Booth patted his back while she held him.

"We're sorry that things didn't go better today," Booth said over Sweets' barely audible weeping. "And I know it might not seem like it right now, but it's going to get better. I promise. And all of us…we're going to do whatever it takes to help get you there, all right?"

Booth then fell quiet while Brennan continued to hold him. The two of them exchanged numerous concerned looks as time stretched on and Sweets continued to cry.

Both of them hoping that Booth's words would not turn out to be nothing more than empty assurances.


	5. Chapter 5

Author's Note: Next chapter. I know I have a lot of projects going right now, but don't worry, I am working on all of them here and here. :)

I do not own Bones or any of its characters.

Thank you to everyone who is reading/following/reviewing this.

**Maddog1997: **Well I'd be lying if I said that writers don't care if people review every chapter. :) We all love reviews. But if you're not up for reviewing every chapter, that's fine. I appreciate that you are enjoying the story so much. However you want to do things is great for me. And again, thank you for your reviews thus far.

**Lovesreidforever: **I completely agree. I've always kind of rolled my eyes at stories where a character goes through a horrific trauma and then they just snap back neatly by the end of the story. It's part of the reason I decided to do a sequel in the first place. I hope you enjoy the rest of this journey along the way...

**Peanutmeg: **Thank you for the review. I do think that there are ways in which Daisy needs to mature as a person and one of them is the ability to not only reference what happens to Sweets to herself. Whether or not this will be the catalyst for that to happen remains to be seen...Glad you enjoyed the rest of the cast interactions and I hope you enjoy this update as well.

**Lives in the now: **Thank you. When I came up with the idea for this story a long time ago, I had a thought that it probably would have a lasting effect on Sweets as well as being perhaps one of the most difficult ordeals that he ever had to go through. But as you sort of pointed out, the fact that he has his current Jeffersonian family to help him (especially Booth and Brennan) is one of the difference makers in his recovery. I will say that peace will not come easily in this story, but it will come in the end...

**Rankor01: **That's the thing with Andrew. I always pictured him to be into causing long-term psychological harm just as much as any sort of physical injury, and stripping Sweets of his dignity as a man and as an intimate person would certainly be a way to achieve that end. And yes, I agree that Daisy can't shoulder all of the blame here simply because she is ignorant to everything that is going on (as is the Jeffersonian group to some extent). But you are also right in that she does have a tendency to thing in terms of how things affect her than how they impact others close to her...I agree with this review and another one you had where you mentioned that B&B had pretty much become a couple at this point and the strength of their partnership is helping Sweets as well. You can expect to see more of how the team pulls together before this story is over.

The Recovery in the Nocturne—Chapter 5

The next morning Booth drove Sweets to Wyatt's restaurant. The psychologist was still not speaking and had flatly refused to eat breakfast that morning, deciding instead to spend the morning staring out the windows of Brennan's apartment while Booth and Brennan readied themselves for the day.

Once they arrived at the restaurant, Sweets sat down at a table in the kitchen while Wyatt and Booth went off toward the bar for a few minutes to talk. Booth then said his goodbyes to Sweets while letting him know that Brennan would be picking him up before leaving for the Hoover Building.

Wyatt sat down at the table across from Sweets and studied him silently for a couple of moments before speaking.

"Agent Booth told me about what happened yesterday," the chef said. "As I am sure you already know. Before we begin today, I was wondering if you would be willing to speak to me about that or anything else at all."

Sweets looked away from Wyatt and began to carefully study the floor near his feet while shifting about uncomfortably in his chair. Wyatt waited for about five minutes before nodding and getting up and walking away. When he returned, the chef had an apron in his hand which he sat on the table close to Sweets.

"We're going to do something a little different from now on," Wyatt said. "I am going to teach you more about the ways of a kitchen, and today we will start these lessons by having you learn how to make a superb quiche Lorraine."

Sweets looked up to stare at the apron on the table and to glance at Wyatt for almost a minute before he stood up and hesitantly put the apron on.

"Excellent," Wyatt beamed. "Now come this way and let me show you how this is done. You start with these simple ingredients…."

* * *

><p>A little over an hour later, the two of them were back to sitting at the chef's table with plates of their freshly made quiche sitting in front of them. Wyatt ate silently at first and was pleased when Sweets finally broke down and ate his own helping.<p>

"You did very well today," the chef said. "You are a wonderful student, Doctor Sweets. I am looking forward to teaching you more soon."

Sweets smiled slightly and shrugged, scooping up some more of his quiche with his fork as he did so.

"Your friends are concerned about you," Wyatt continued. "More so than usual right now, I'd say. Not speaking to them is only going to intensify their concerns." Sweets frowned and jammed some more food in his mouth while looking down at his plate.

"You do not need to tell them exactly what happened yesterday, although you will need to open up more at some point," the chef added. "But you could ameliorate this situation by at least conversing with them again."

The psychologist picked at the scraps of food left on his plate with his fork, the utensil twirling about in his fingers. Wyatt took a long sip of wine before leaning toward him.

"This was a particularly horrendous flashback, wasn't it?" he asked. The chef words caused Sweets to start and look up at him.

"Yes, I've suspected it for some time now," Wyatt nodded. "These flashes of memory occur far more frequently than you have mentioned to the others. And you've been doing everything you can to hide them from your friends and family. Have you perhaps considered why it is you feel the need to do so?"

Sweets let his fork drop down onto the plate and buried his face in his hands. It pained Wyatt to see the anguish the psychologist was going through, but he understood the need to press on in his questioning.

"Some might theorize that you are concerned about allowing your family to perceive you as weak and helpless," Wyatt mused aloud. "But I wouldn't agree with that, no. At least not entirely. After all, you were recently confined to a hospital bed and had required assistance to carry out the most basic daily rituals. So perhaps what you are trying to avoid is for them to dwell on the events that led to you nearly losing your life and which are giving you so much agony right now."

Sweets started to shake slightly which prompted Wyatt to reach over and pat his forearm.

"I will not pretend to understand how very difficult this is for you," the chef said gently. "You endured much hardship from the earliest years of your life and now you have to come to grips, as it were, with some of the same dark nightmares from your childhood all over again. No wonder you do not want to think about them, much less talk about them. And yet these flashbacks are forcing you to re-live those moments. Even worse, with each show of distress, you are being pushed closer to the very real inevitability that you will have to divulge these experiences with your family at some point."

Wyatt scooted his chair closer to Sweets when the therapist finally lifted his head and wiped at his eyes.

"That is what frightens you," Wyatt said, pointing a finger at Sweets. "It frightens you about as much as the memories of Jensen himself and what he did to you. The reaction when it all comes out. The exposure of all of your deepest and most tortured thoughts, feelings and insecurities. The perception they might have of you when it's all said and done."

The therapist's face turned red and he continued to sniffle. Wyatt got up and poured him a glass of water, offering it to Sweets before he sat back down. He watched Sweets take a couple of swallows before speaking again.

"I know that a few words from me are not going to erase these memories or the ideas that that terrible person planted into your mind," Wyatt said. "But I do ask that you consider something until we meet here again. I was involved in the investigation of your abduction and ,as your medical advocate, I spent a great deal of time at the hospital observing your friends and family while they awaited your recovery. The only things that I witnessed from them were love and an unflagging desire to help you heal from the terrors that you experienced. And I can assure you that these things have not abated in the slightest. I also doubt very much that they could be snuffed out by any additional knowledge they might gain about your ordeal."

Wyatt paused so that his words could have a chance to sink into the psychologist's brain. He then straightened up in his chair and placed his hands on the table.

"Right then, we still have time before the lovely Doctor Brennan is due to arrive," Wyatt said. "I would like to use this time to practice a couple of visualization and relaxation techniques that I have used in my own practice. I ask that you give them a try over this next week and let me know about the results."

Sweets nodded and turned his body to face Wyatt. He then took a deep breath and willed his body to relax so that he could concentrate on the chef's instructions.

* * *

><p>Over at the Hoover Building, Booth sat in his office chair across from a man named Victor Jameson.<p>

The agent had tracked down several ex-employees from the storage center and had talked to each of them in his office once he had arrived. Despite having learned about the identity of the victim in the storage locker, Booth could not help but feel that there was some unfinished business in this line of inquiry. So far not much had turned up, and Booth was beginning to question his instincts. That is until Jameson showed up.

"I worked at that place for five years," Jameson said. "Five long, tiring years."

"Five years? That seems to be some kind of record at that place," Booth said, his interest piqued. "I take it that William Tuttle is not the easiest boss to work for."

"You have no idea," Jameson said, rolling his eyes. "That guy will blow up at you for no reason at all. And trust me, nothing will make him mad faster than having to involve himself in any way with his employees except maybe some of the renters he didn't like."

"So he didn't always get along with the people who were renting storage units from him?" Booth inquired.

"You could say that," Jameson nodded. "I always wondered why that guy didn't drive away more business than he did. It's not as if Tuttle could ever be mistaken for a people person."

"What about Daniel Hoffman?" Booth asked. "Do you know if Tuttle had an issue with him?"

"Hoffman? Oh yeah, Tuttle had an issue with him," Jameson replied. "That guy was always on Tuttle's black list. The guy was constantly late on his rent and when he did show up to pay, he was always all belligerent and swaggering, you know? Hoffman always paid a little extra beyond the rent and late fees he was slapped with. It was like he didn't really care about things like being late or having to pay more. Always drove Tuttle nuts. But there was another reason Tuttle hated this guy."

"What was that?" Booth asked.

"Well Tuttle heard Hoffman yelling on his cell phone one time about how he had to go to court over his DUIs," the man answered. "The fact that Hoffman was still able to drive around legally despite being caught driving drunk really made Tuttle's blood boil. You see, his uncle was put into a wheelchair because of a drunk driver. Guess Hoffman reminded him a little too much about that whole thing."

Booth leaned back in his chair and nodded. Tuttle was looking more and more interesting as a suspect by the moment, but there was one last thing that the agent needed to confirm.

"Was Tuttle the type to keep a close eye on everything?" he asked. "Or is he a more 'hands-off' kind of a guy?"

"Hands-off? I wish," Jameson snorted. "It might have made it easier to work with the guy. He was always checking on me and everyone else, making sure we were doing our jobs. He's kind of a fanatic about it. He always said to me that he had to make sure about what we were all doing because if he didn't there would be people loafing on the clock. And to him, loafing is the same as stealing. Of course, this is the same guy who said that employee vacation time is a waste of company resources and should be abolished. God, I am glad that I don't have to work there anymore."

Booth took a sip from his coffee mug partially as a way to hide a smirk. He was now certain that Tuttle had lied to him and had begun to suspect that he had also done much worse than that.

* * *

><p>Brennan drove into the parking lot of Wyatt's restaurant and parked up front. She then walked inside to find Wyatt and Sweets sitting at a table near the door.<p>

"Ah, Doctor Brennan," Wyatt smiled as he and Sweets rose to meet her. "How are you feeling today?"

"I am well, thank you," she said her eyes darting back and forth between the chef and Sweets. Wyatt could sense her concern and tried to give her a reassuring look.

"I will see you soon, Doctor Sweets," the chef said as Sweets and Brennan started to leave. "Perhaps you should demonstrate what we went over for Agent Booth and Doctor Brennan at some juncture."

The psychologist shrugged and shook Wyatt's hand before walking out the door with Brennan. After they left, the former psychiatrist went back to his kitchen and began to work on the latest orders from the dining room.

As he prepped the dishes, Wyatt considered Sweets' situation in the back of his mind. It was clear to him that the psychologist was making progress even if it was slow and had setbacks like this latest one. He was also certain, however, that true healing was not going to begin until Sweets was willing to talk about what happened to him as Jensen's captive and working through the accompanying emotions and lies that he was fed.

The chef placed some beef onto a skillet so that he could sear it. He had tried various techniques to get the psychologist to open up about his experiences, but found that he was instead locked into a sort of chess game with Sweets over this. Every question was met with a question. Every attempt was met with a countermeasure. As frustrating as it was to treat him, Wyatt could not help but admire the skill and great intellect that Sweets possessed and was utilizing to evade any sort of probing into his psyche.

But Wyatt knew that this could not go on forever and was worried about Sweets' current state of mind. The most recent panic attack with its severity and resulting effect of making the therapist mute had Wyatt simultaneously intrigued and concerned. The chef was marginally comforted by the idea that Sweets' silence would probably not last much longer, but he was also convinced that this particular incident pointed toward a much darker and insidious problem.

Wyatt wanted to break through Sweets' reserve to get to the heart of these issues, but was presently at a loss as to the proper method to achieve this end. Still, he was confident in his own abilities and hopeful that an opportunity would present itself soon. Until then, he would hold fast to his slow, methodical course.

* * *

><p>As Brennan drove back toward the Medico-Legal lab, she continued to watch Sweets out of the corner of her eyes. Although she did not give psychology any credence as a valid science, she had hoped that Wyatt's skill with people would help Sweets through the turmoil he was now experiencing.<p>

"Booth needs me to look at the remains from our current case again," she said to him, trying to be conversational. "He mentioned to me that he might have a suspect. I hope to be done with my work by this evening. I was thinking about making dinner tonight again, and Booth mentioned that he would try to stop by to join us if he has time. If he can't make it, perhaps we could discuss another work from Shakespeare. _Julius Caesar_, maybe?"

"I'm sorry," Sweets murmured, his eyes still locked on his passenger side window. Startled, Brennan looked over at him for a few seconds.

"Sweets? You are speaking again," she said. The psychologist let out a sigh and rubbed his eyes.

"I know. I am sorry about that whole thing," he continued in the same quiet voice. "I…I just couldn't…."

"It's all right," Brennan assured him. "I am just thankful that whatever was causing you to be uncommunicative has passed. I am certain that Booth and the others will feel the same way."

"Even Daisy?" the psychologist asked.

"I imagine that Miss Wick could be included in that statement, yes," the anthropologist nodded. "Why? Is there a reason why you thought she wouldn't be?"

Sweets remained silent for a few moments, and Brennan had started to worry that he was lapsing back into this mute state when he suddenly sniffed.

"I thought that maybe…after yesterday…that she might not care as much," he mumbled. "I didn't mean to make her so miserable, but I did. She probably doesn't want to talk to me anymore anyway. Not that I blame her."

"Sweets, I am sure that Miss Wick was simply…overwhelmed by the series of events that occurred yesterday," Brennan responded. "Once she has had time to consider everything thoroughly, she should reach a better formulated response to everything that has happened."

"While I was waiting for you to come," Sweets continued. "At the restaurant…Wyatt went to tend to something in the kitchen for a few moments. While he was gone, I tried to call Daisy….just to let her know that we should talk. I tried a couple of times. She never answered her phone….I know I should have left a voicemail, but I…."

Sweets' voice trailed off and his swiped at his face in an effort to conceal any traces of tears in his eyes.

"Perhaps she was busy," Brennan offered. "Or perhaps she did not have her phone on her. Or maybe she was unsure of how to word her response to whatever you had to say to her, much like how you were uncertain about leaving her a voicemail. It is never good to engage in speculation without concrete facts."

"I suppose not," Sweets said with a hint of smile. "Thank you Doctor Brennan…for reminding me of that."

"You are welcome, Sweets," Brennan smiled back. "I am confident that you already knew this, but…I find that even I sometimes need someone to remind me of these fundamentals."


	6. Chapter 6

Author's Note: Next chapter. Sorry this one took so long to update. I hope to quicken the pace of this one for a little while at least...

I do not own Bones or any of its characters.

Thank you to everyone who is reading/following/reviewing this. It is always appreciated.

**Peanutmeg: **Thank you for the review. It was interesting to see how they portrayed Daisy as more supportive during the latest episode of Bones. I suppose we can still hope that the writers could be trying to move her in a better direction...I do love writing for Wyatt. I wish we could see him during this season of Bones, but alas...I hope you enjoy this update though.

**Lives in the now: **Thank you very much for the review. :) I'll admit that I try to have Stephen Fry's voice in my head whenever I try to include a conversation with Wyatt in my fics and as a result, it tends to dictate how I write his dialogue. I am glad though that you find him to be so much in character. As for Brennan, I do think that she has more insight than what she gives herself credit for, particularly in relation to her close friends/family...

**D: **You are right in many, many aspects actually: about Booth, Brennan and Wyatt. But as true to the show, getting to the point where they reach that acknowledgement and understanding of their feelings and of what they need to do for each other will not be easy...

**Rankor01: **Thank you. I've been trying recently to bring more of a canon mix of case and character-stuff to my fics, although I will probably always focus more on characters. And as I've mentioned somewhere before, the case will actually mean something in relation to the central theme of this fic: Sweets' recovery. As I mentioned to **D**, it will not be an easy road, but it will be one with rewards at the end...

**Fluffybird: **Thank you for the review. I'm sorry I took so long to update, but I hope you enjoy this chapter.

**ASummer: **Oh no problem. I suppose I've been sort of MIA myself with this fic of late. And you are right in saying that the case will relate to Sweets' storyline...although that is something that will be revealed over time.

**Sabulum Procella: **Thank you for the epic review. :D I think that I've addressed a lot of your points over PMs, so I won't repeat myself here. I hope that you have enjoyed some of the other fics that I suggested and that you enjoy this fic as it continues to unfold. Thanks again for the massive review. :)

The Recovery in the Nocturne—Chapter 6

Once Brennan arrived at the lab, Sweets immediately started for her office under the pretense of needing to get some rest. As they walked in, Booth moved over to meet them.

"Hey Bones, Sweets," he said.

"Hi Booth," Sweets nearly whispered. Booth grinned in response, but said nothing, not wanting to make too big a deal out of the fact that Sweets was speaking again.

"Bones, have you found out anything else about Hoffman?" the agent asked.

"I should go," Sweets mumbled, his shoulders drooping. "I'll…I'll talk to you guys later."

"Ok Sweets," Booth called after him. "We'll take you out for lunch later, I promise." The therapist nodded in response and then continued to shuffle away. The two of them watched him leave for a minute before turning back toward each other.

"At least he's talking again," Booth said. "Gordon Gordon must have been able to reach him."

"He must have, but Booth he looked so…dejected just now," Brennan said. "I thought that when he started speaking again that he would be feeling better."

"He just misses this," the agent said as he glanced again at the direction that Sweets had taken. "Catching murderers, his shrinky stuff, being part of a team…."

"But didn't Sweets say that he was still considering leaving psychology behind?" the anthropologist asked.

"He did," Booth said. "But I don't think it's going to be that easy for him to do. And Sweets, he's not the kind of guy who likes to just sit around and do nothing."

"I wish that there was something we could do for him," Brennan said.

"I do too Bones," Booth sighed. "But in the end, there's only so much we can do. The rest is going to be up to Sweets."

* * *

><p>A few minutes later, Booth and Brennan were standing in the ooky room, looking over Hoffman's skeleton which had been cleaned and laid out onto an examination table. Brennan went over her findings with Booth while he tried to visualize the murder from what the anthropologist was telling him.<p>

"So…you're saying that Hoffman was facing away from the murderer when he was killed?" Booth asked.

"Correct," Brennan said. "Fractures to the occipital bone near the base of the skull show that he was struck from behind. Also, the angle of impact indicates that that the victim was kneeling or crouching on the ground when he was struck. I had Angela run some scenarios, and she was able to ascertain that the assailant would have had to been at the most five foot ten and approximately one hundred and eighty pounds."

"That's about the same height and weight as Tuttle," Booth nodded.

"Tox results are back," Cam said as she walked into the room. "The victim had a significant amount of rohypnol in his tissues. That along with some stimulants is what killed those rats. They ingested too much of the rohypnol."

"That's the 'date rape' drug," Booth added. "Hey, maybe that's why Hoffman was on the ground and why he didn't fight back."

"That would explain the lack of defensive wounds and the trauma," Brennan agreed. "The rohypnol would have made him disoriented and passive."

"King of the lab," Hodgins said triumphantly as he walked in with a file in his hands. "I was pulling some particulates off the 'big mouth bass' when I found some prints."

"They could belong to the victim," the pathologist said. "It was his storage unit."

"They don't. I checked," Hodgins grinned. "Most of the prints on the fish were completely smudged, probably because the murderer tried to wipe his fingerprints off. But he missed the area between the fish and the wall mount that it's attached to. Angela is running the print now."

"Good work, Hodgins," Cam nodded. "Let's just hope that the killer's prints are in the system." Just then Angela appeared beside Hodgins.

"Fortunately for us, they are," the artist said. "An assault charge from five years ago gave us a match: William Tuttle."

"The guy who runs the storage company?" Cam responded.

"Guess he got tired of taking care of this guy's tacky crap," Hodgins said. "Oh and King of the Lab…you know in case anyone…"

"We get it, Jack," Angela said, rolling her eyes slightly.

* * *

><p>Back in Brennan's office, Sweets laid on his side on her couch and picked at some loose threads on the cushions.<p>

He was still tired from last night both from his bouts of weeping and from a lack of sleep due to persistent nightmares. He tried to take a nap, but he soon realized that the lab was too cold for him and that his mind was too restless right now.

The psychologist kept going over what Wyatt had said to him silently in his brain. The chef had been completely accurate on many points in his discussion, much to Sweets' dismay. He understood that Wyatt was his friend and that he was trying to help him, but Sweets still could not help but feel uncomfortable at the way that the chef was able to get inside his thoughts and see through them so clearly.

'_That's probably how Booth, Brennan and the rest of them feel about me,' _he thought glumly. '_Who would want someone around who's always trying to probe inside your head?'_

Sweets started to sniff, but then he bunched his fingers together into a fist.

'_No I can't think like that,' _he told himself. '_My friends care about me. They've done so much….they wouldn't do all of that if they didn't want me around.'_

'_But what if they knew the truth, Lance?' _Andrew's voice began to taunt. '_You haven't told them about what happened. About what I did to you. You know why? Because you know what will happen if you do.'_

'_That's why you'll never escape me….That's why you'll never be anything more than a useless, sniveling coward.'_

Sweets sat up and wrapped his arms around his chest. He wasn't able to stop Andrew's voice from penetrating his mind anymore, but these days he tried to cope by finding ways to distract himself from those thoughts. Bored and unsure of what else to latch onto, he started to think about the case that the others were working on.

He had heard snippets of information about it here and there around the lab about a man who had been found murdered in his own storage unit by a novelty fish. At first, Sweets thought that it was some kind of joke until he had gotten a glimpse of Hodgins running tests on said fish in his office. It all sounded like an interesting, if bizarre, case.

But even this distraction managed to make the psychologist's mood sink. He wanted to ask Angela how someone could kill someone else with a plastic fish. He wanted to stop by Cam's office to see how the case was going. He wanted to share a meal with Booth and Brennan that didn't just involve small talk and current events but work-related things as well.

He longed to be a part of the team again…even though he wasn't sure anymore where he could fit into it or what his purpose would be.

The therapist shivered again, rubbing his hands over his arms. He had thought about taking another walk through the Egyptian section of the Jeffersonian, but found himself too tired to contemplate that long of a stroll. He then thought about reading a book, but then dismissed that idea, knowing that he was too antsy to be able to settle in and read.

Instead, he stood up and stared out through the glass wall of Brennan's office into the lab outside.

This had been his place, and it still was to some extent…but it just wasn't the same anymore. Much like how this glass separated him from the rest of the Medico-Legal lab, Sweets felt as if he was separated from the rest of his team. He could watch them from where he was and be physically close to them…but he couldn't be a part of what they were doing.

Sweets sighed and plopped back down onto the couch. He decided to try harder to take a nap since he had a feeling that he would probably have another difficult night tonight.

* * *

><p>Over at the Hoover Building, Booth and Brennan sat in Booth's office while they waited for word about an arrest warrant for Tuttle. An hour earlier, they had taken Sweets out for a sandwich at the Diner, but the psychologist had gone back to saying little during conversations and eating only about half of his food.<p>

Neither of them wanted to say it aloud, but the both of them were worried that Sweets had hit a wall in his recovery. Even worse, both of them could not shake the nagging thought that they might never see Sweets return to some semblance of his old self.

Booth's phone rang and he answered it. About a minute later, he thanked the caller and hung up.

"We've got the warrant on Tuttle," Booth said. "A couple of my guys stopped by his office to pick him up. But apparently his co-workers say that he suddenly took off on vacation….which is funny considering how he's supposedly against that kind of thing."

"You think he's trying to hop town?" Brennan asked.

"Skip town, Bones," Booth replied. "And that's exactly what he's trying to do, but he won't get far. I've got my agents on him and the local and state police have been notified. It's only a matter of time." The agent leaned back in his chair and picked up a baseball off his desk and began to toss it back and forth between his hands, his face pensive.

"What is it?" Brennan asked.

"This case," Booth said. "Tuttle. Why did he do it? I mean, I get that he's a jerk who bullies people and that Hoffman disgusted him. But…what made him snap that one time and beat Hoffman to death with a fish? It just doesn't add up somehow."

"You're wondering about his motive," Brennan responded.

"I suppose I have one, a flimsy one…but one that will do," Booth said. "And I know that all of the hard evidence points says that he did it. That's pretty much what my gut says too. But it just feels like there's something we're missing here. Something….something that…."

"Something that Sweets would be wondering about?" Brennan asked, a hint of sadness in her tone.

"That's exactly it, Bones," Booth sighed. The two of them fell silent for a couple minutes before Brennan cleared her throat.

"Booth, do you think that Sweets will ever work with us again?" she asked. "Do you think that he's serious about abandoning psychology? I know that you said that it wouldn't be easy, but I'm not sure why that is."

"It's because the whole thing: the profiling, the shrinky stuff, that's not just what Sweets does," Booth said. "It's who he _is_. It's part of what makes Sweets…Sweets."

"You mean like the way that you protect people?" Brennan said.

"Yeah, something like that," the agent replied. "I think that Sweets saying that he doesn't want to do psychology anymore is more of that bastard Jensen messing with his head. But other times….other times I just don't know. Sometimes I think that he'll go right back to it once he gets better. Other times…I'm not sure if he's that person anymore."

"I agree," the anthropologist nodded. "And I find that I miss working with him."

"You miss psychology?" Booth smirked at her.

"If you mean, do I miss the misguided field of psychology, then no I don't," Brennan said, making a face. "But over the years, I have found Sweets' skills to be useful in a lot of areas. Including situations like the questions you have about Tuttle. I suppose that it would be irrational of me to ignore all of the contributions Sweets has made in the past, despite my feelings about his field."

"Yeah, I miss him too, Bones," Booth sighed again. "I even miss stuff like the nosiness and the questions." Brennan nodded again.

"I am glad that he is slowly recovering," she said. "But I wish that there was something we could do now to help elevate his mood."

Booth was about to respond when a soft 'ding' from his computer indicated that he had just gotten an email. The agent opened it up and read it for about two minutes before looking back up with Brennan with a grin on his face.

"You're right, Sweets does need some cheering up," he said. "And now, I know just the way to do it."


	7. Chapter 7

Author's Note: Yes, another update. :) I was glad that I could get another one out this week, although it might be a bit longer before the next chapter after this.

I do not own Bones or any of its characters.

Thank you to everyone who is reading/following/reviewing this. It's always appreciated.

**Rankor01: **Thank you. I hope to continue to make the case unfold in an interesting way through the rest of this fic...I agree that the team has pretty much accepted Sweets' flaws much like he has accepted theirs. But as you said, his tendency to turn things inside out is making it harder to treat him than it normally would. But as you will see, there are still some aspects of Sweets that haven't completely gone away, and that will be key...

**D: **Well fortunately, you didn't have long to wait for this chapter. :) And interestingly enough, you are onto something as far as what will be happening as this story continues. And yes, you will get to find out what Booth was referring to in this chapter.

The Recovery in the Nocturne—Chapter 7

The next day, Sweets was riding with Angela in her van, the two of them having taken off from the lab a few minutes beforehand.

* * *

><p>As he had predicted, Sweets had spent most of the night before wrestling with his feelings about his current lack of purpose or direction. Eventually exhaustion made it possible for him to get a few hours of sleep, but he still woke up weary the following morning in Brennan's apartment.<p>

Booth came over to have breakfast with them and the three of them ended up having a mostly quiet meal of omelettes and toast.

During breakfast, Sweets had noticed that Booth and Brennan kept giving each other conspiratorial glances that were frequently punctuated by barely hidden smiles. If the psychologist looked too long at either of them, they would quickly look away from each other and focus their attention on their food. Other times while they were conversing, Brennan looked eager to say something in particular, but then Booth would give her a meaningful expression and steer the conversation toward some other direction.

After watching this elaborate dance for almost fifteen minutes, Sweets felt compelled to say something.

"Are you two hiding something?" he asked between bites of toast. Booth and Brennan appeared to be startled by the question at first, but then as they noticed the inquisitive look in his eyes, they started to smile, which only added to the psychologist's confusion.

"What makes you think that we are?" Booth asked as he picked up his cup of coffee. The agent had been unable to completely mask the amusement and giddiness out of his voice. Suddenly self-conscious, Sweets blushed and fidgeted with his napkin.

"I just….I just know," he stammered. "I mean, you are. Aren't you?"

Booth and Brennan beamed at each other again, a touch of wistfulness creeping into their features. What Sweets didn't know was how much the two of them relished seeing the therapist lapse back into his former self, even if it was only for a moment.

"We might be," Brennan nodded. "For now."

"Don't worry about it, Sweets," Booth chimed in. "You'll find out about it in a couple of hours or so."

The three of them finished their breakfast and head off to the lab after that. Once they got there, Booth got a call on his cell phone.

"They got Tuttle," Booth informed them after he had hung up. "They're bringing him in now. Apparently he was trying to run off to meet up with some cousin in Arizona."

"What about…that other thing?" Brennan asked, nodding her head vigorously toward Sweets. The therapist raised an eyebrow in response.

"Oh yeah, that," Booth mumbled. "I've got an idea."

* * *

><p>Sweets kept his gaze on the scenery speeding by his window while Angela drove. He tried to figure out their eventual destination, but found himself distracted by his own thoughts.<p>

At one point, Booth had gone to the artist's office and had a quick, hushed conversation with her before the agent took off with Brennan toward the Hoover Building. Angela then greeted Sweets with a grin.

"Hey Sweets, I have some errands to run," she had said. "Could you come with me to keep my company?"

The psychologist had immediately agreed, partially so he could spend some time with her and partially because he was desperate for a change of scenery.

They had stopped to get coffees at one point and then Angela went to an art supply store for a few minutes to pick up some things while Sweets waited in the car. Then she started on this much longer trip.

Several minutes later, however, her destination finally dawned on Sweets.

"We're going to the airport?" he asked, quizzical.

"Yeah," Angela said as she pulled into the airport's parking lot. "Booth asked me to pick up someone who was flying in today for him. He wanted to do it himself, but this case and all has got him tied up."

The artist paid the parking fee and then pulled her van over to a relatively close spot to the terminal.

"Maybe I should stay here," Sweets mumbled as Angela got out of the car. The artist walked over to the other side and opened Sweets' door, placing a hand on his forearm.

"Come on, Sweets. Don't just sit in here," she insisted. "You know how boring places like this are. Don't make me wait by myself. Please?"

The psychologist sighed and relented, unbuckling his seat belt and getting out of the car so he could walk with her into the airport.

Once inside, Angela was saddened to see how nervous Sweets was as they navigated through the hallways and crowds of people. The therapist's eyes darted about as he walked, and his hands trembled slightly while hanging loosely near his sides. Angela pulled a scrap of paper from her pocket and studied it for a moment before guiding Sweets toward the gate she was looking for. She then took his hand and pulled him toward a row of seats nearby that were empty and along a side wall. There were only two other people waiting in this area, so the two of them pretty much had the place to themselves. As they sat there, Sweets slowly started to relax and get used to his surroundings.

After she had settled in, Angela reached for his hand again and held it tightly while smiling at him. When Booth told her who she would be meeting at the airport, she was thrilled at the news and had agreed to keep it a secret from Sweets. But now that she was sitting her quietly and waiting, she was able to think about other issues that had been bothering her, and her mood deflated a little.

"Angela, is something on your mind?"

Angela was shocked by the question, even though not too long ago, it had been very typical of Sweets to ask it. She looked over to see a genuinely curious and concerned expression on his face, and she found herself unable to resist it.

"It's…it's Hodgins," she sighed. "He's been very careful not to say anything to me directly, but…that whole thing where I got shot has still got him freaked out. He keeps checking up on me and doesn't want me to go out alone most of the time. Even at night, I swear it's like he's holding me a little tighter than he used to. I get why he's doing it, but…."

Angela heaved another sigh and squeezed Sweets' hand.

"Forget it. You don't need me dumping my problems into your lap," she smiled weakly. "I'm sure the last thing you want to hear about my issues with Jack."

"No it's ok," he assured her. "I…All of you have done so much for me recently. I…I wish I could do something…something to help…."

Angela watched as the psychologist squirmed in his chair and felt her heart ache. While it was true that she felt as if she was just starting to know Sweets as well as Booth or even Brennan did by this point, she did know him well enough to understand his need to help and take care of his friends and family.

"Well…you could help me figure out what to do with Hodgins," she said. "I've tried to start a conversation with him about this, but he always changes the subject. I don't know what else to say to him."

"Maybe he just needs time," Sweets said, his expression thoughtful. "Your…getting hurt was a shock to him. It probably forced him to think about things that he'd wanted to avoid before now."

"I can see that, but he can't live that way forever," Angela said. "Clinging to everything in the hope that nothing is lost…that's no way to live, right?" Sweets looked down at the floor, his posture suddenly tense. She could tell that he was uncertain about what he wanted to say next, but she hoped that the therapist would find the nerve to continue.

"I don't think this is forever," Sweets finally murmured, his head still down. "He…he just needs to get used to the idea that…that it's over now and that you're safe. But I wouldn't worry too much about it. Anyone can see how good the two of you are together, and over time that bond will eclipse the fear he is feeling right now. I mean…it's not getting any worse recently is it?"

"No…no most of the time he is good," Angela answered.

"Then I think he's working it out in his own way," Sweets added. "Sometimes…sometimes it's not easy to shake something, even if you desperately want to do it. Just let him know that you're there for him if he needs anything. Other than that, you'll just have to let this run its course."

"I suppose that makes sense," she nodded. "Hey, thanks Sweets, for listening and all." The psychologist shrugged and continued to hang his head.

"You're welcome," he nearly whispered. Angela was about to say more when another voice stopped her.

"Lance?"

Sweets instantly lifted his head and blinked hard in surprise when he saw his cousin, Staff Sergeant Peter Sweets, walking through the gate area toward him. The psychologist nearly jumped out of his chair.

"Peter," he grinned as he briskly made his way over. The soldier smiled back and dropped the duffel bag he was holding so that he could embrace Sweets once he met up with him.

"Hey Whiz Kid, how are you?" Peter said as he held him tightly. "Let me see you." The soldier then let Sweets go and pushed him back a little.

"You look good," Peter nodded. "I see that you got rid of the cast, and it looks like you've finally started to gain some weight back. I'm really glad to see you doing better." Sweets smiled again and blushed at the warm greeting that his cousin was giving him.

"It's great to see you too," Sweets said. "I…I was worried when you didn't write or…."

"I'm sorry about that, Lance," Peter replied. "I was involved with some stuff that really didn't leave me much time to write or contact anyone for that matter. Plus, there was sort of a communications blackout, if you get my drift. Believe me, I wanted to keep in touch though."

"It's ok," Sweets said, shaking his head.

"Hey Peter," Angela smiled at him.

"Angela, it's great to see you as well," the soldier replied. "I thought that Agent Booth and Doctor Brennan would be coming, but this is a welcome surprise."

"They're in the middle of a case," she said, a bit taken with the soldier's charm. "So you're stuck with us."

"More like you're stuck with me and all my gear," Peter said ruefully. "I hope that your car can fit us and all my things. I had most of it shipped to McNair directly, but I took some stuff with me on the plane."

"Don't worry, I have a van," Angela told him. "I'm sure we can get it all in."

"If all else fails, we can fold down the back seats and let you ride with your stuff," Sweets joked. "We'll make sure not to pack you in too tightly." The psychologist then reached over to roughly pat Peter's arm. As he did so though, the soldier hissed in pain and yanked his arm away. Sweets' face instantly fell and he dropped his hands down.

"Peter…you're hurt," Sweets said, worry and regret bleeding into his voice.

"It's ok. It's nothing," Peter insisted. "It's just a scratch from a mishap in the field. It's nothing really major, just a little sore is all." Sweets nodded, his eyes downcast. Upon seeing his, Peter firmly clasped his cousin's shoulders.

"Lance, it's fine," he said. "You didn't hurt me, all right? Come on. Let's get my stuff and then the two of you can drop me off at McNair. Then later tonight, we'll go out to dinner with your friends, ok?"

"Ok," Sweets said, his tone still subdued. Peter patted his shoulder a couple times before glancing over at Angela, his eyes filled with concern. As Angela looked back at Peter, she knew that they were both thinking the same thing.

Sweets was doing better…but he was far from having recovered.

* * *

><p>Over at the Hoover Building, Booth and Brennan walked into an interrogation room where William Tuttle was sitting, glaring at the walls.<p>

Agents had brought him in and had him placed in the room about two hours previous. During that time, Booth and Brennan gathered together their evidence that they had accumulated along with some additional information that had been turned up during a search of Tuttle's condo. The two of them then worked out a rough idea of the approach they would use in questioning him before walking in together, each of them carrying a file in their hands.

As they sat down in their chairs and stacked up their folders, Tuttle rolled his eyes dramatically.

"Look, I already told you everything that I know about Hoffman and his storage locker, ok?" he huffed. "Like I told those agents who brought me in, my cousin out in Arizona had something personal come up. I was just going out there to give him a hand."

"After you had been instructed to not leave town?" Booth asked.

"Oh come on," Tuttle retorted. "Is that what this is about? It was a family emergency. I didn't think that you guys would be such hard-asses about it. I don't have a lot of family left and my cousin…well the kid's been through a lot. Are you seriously going to make a federal case out of me trying to take care of a family matter?"

"No," Brennan answered. "We're going to make a case out of the fact that you killed Daniel Hoffman."

"Whoa. What?" Tuttle gasped. "What are you talking about?"

"It was Hoffman's body inside that storage unit," Brennan continued, matter-of-factly. "Which of course, you know about since you killed him." Tuttle finally started to sweat.

"She…she's crazy," he stammered. He then turned toward Booth. "Are you going to let her sit there and say that crazy stuff?"

"Actually, I am because she's right," Booth said as he started to pull out various papers and photographs from the folders that had been brought in. "We talked to your current and ex-employees, and they have all said that you wouldn't have taken off on a sudden vacation like this, even for family. They also tell me that you regularly check on those storage units, so if anyone could have known about a body rotting away in one, it would have been you. We also have eye-witnesses who can testify that you had had a history of arguments and altercations with the victim."

"Your fingerprints were also found on the murder weapon," Brennan added. "You tried to wipe them off, but you didn't do a very good job."

"Also we searched your condo," Booth said. "We found some papers you had stashed away that prove that you knew about Hoffman's movements in the weeks before he died and that you had tried to set up a meeting with him."

"You searched my place," Tuttle spat. "You had no right."

"All of this adds up to you killing Hoffman," Booth continued, ignoring him. "So why don't you stop lying to us, and tell us what happened?"

Tuttle's shoulders sagged and he leaned against the table, his face the very picture of defeat.

"You never met that guy," he said. "He was the most obnoxious, entitled jerk on the face of the planet. For years, I put up with his crap. But that day…I just couldn't take it anymore."

Tuttle sat up and looked Booth and Brennan in the eyes.

"I did set up that meeting," he continued. "I was going to tell Hoffman that he had two weeks to get his crap out of that storage unit and away from my business. And you know he does? He shows up to our meeting drunk, weaving around, slurring his words. I don't even know how he was able to get himself there, quite frankly. I shoved him toward his locker and told him to start taking his stuff out tonight, but he just stumbled about and laughed at me."

Tuttle clenched his hands and ground his jaw.

"All I could think about while I was watching him was my uncle," he said. "He'd been hit by some idiot like Hoffman and his life destroyed. And I just knew that Hoffman was going to hurt some other innocent person. People like that….they need to be eradicated. Wiped clean before they destroy everything worthwhile."

Booth started for a moment as those words stirred some instinct inside him, but for now he decided to focus on Tuttle's confession instead.

"I just grabbed the first thing that I could find and started hitting him with it," Tuttle said. "Who knew that those tacky fish were so durable? Once I realized what I had done, I panicked. I tried to get rid of the evidence, but I left the body in there. I…I figured that the rats would eat him up enough so that no one would figure out what happened. Then I decided to report him because hey, you don't suspect the guy who reports the murder, right? I guess I didn't count on the FBI getting involved."

Booth handed him a pad of paper and a pen so that he could write out his confession and sign it. Still, the agent could not shake the feeling that this was a hollow victory.

'_Something's wrong,' _Booth told himself silently. '_It all looks right on the surface…but something is not right about this.'_

'_What am I missing? Why can't I see it?'_


	8. Chapter 8

Author's Note: No, I haven't abandoned this story either. I hope to get back to all of my open projects here very soon. In the meantime, I want to thank all of my readers for their patience.

I do not own Bones or any of its characters.

Thank you to everyone who is reading/following/reviewing this. It is always appreciated.

**Lives in the now: **Yeah, I had planned for Peter to be in the sequel as well, and this seemed like a good way to bring him back in. :) You are right in saying that parts of his normal self are starting to return...but as it will soon become apparent, that isn't necessarily the end to his problems...

**Rankor01: **The case is wrapped up...or is it? Things might not be what they appear on the surface...Yes, much like the rest of Team Jeffersonian, Peter will play and important role in this story, as future chapters will show.

**Peanutmeg: **Thanks for the review. I completely understand about RL getting in the way sometimes, thus the stalling of all of my fics for over a month there. :( I hope that you will enjoy my new chapters.

**Sabulum Procella: **I hear you about being busy. You are right in saying that it's nice to have a huge chunk of stuff to read at once, but I will admit that I kind of hate falling so far behind. Oh well...Yeah, I do think that B&B (and the rest of them for that matter) have learned to accept and even embrace the quirks that exist in Sweets, including his tendency to pull out the "shrinky stuff" with them. :) And yes, I kind of see Sweets' personality as the type who tends to analyze things to the Nth degree, and thus, it's hard for B&B to keep things from him for long. Putting aside the idea that they can be bad at keeping secrets at times. :D...Peter's role in the Army is purposely vague for a few reasons, but I do plan on shedding some light on that at some point (just not in this fic)...Well thank you for the long review though. They are fun to read. Expect more about case and character stuff in the chapters to come...

**Stereo Heart: **Thank you. Unfortunately I wasn't able to get to it as soon as I would like, but I hope you enjoy the next chapter.

**Ipizzlewizzle: **Yes, I do plan on finished this story actually at some point. Unfortunately sometimes I fall off track for a while in my fanfic writing. But I hope to be on track again for a while. I hope you enjoy this update, even though it was late in coming.

The Recovery in the Nocturne—Chapter 8

That evening, the team gathered at one of their favorite Chinese restaurants along with Peter and Sweets to celebrate both the wrap-up of the case and the soldier's return. The mood was festive on the surface, but no one in attendance could deny the undercurrents of concern and melancholy lurking about in everyone's minds.

This sort of pensive atmosphere was even more readily apparent in Booth's demeanor. While most of the others conversed and sometimes laughed, the agent ate his food thoughtfully and slowly nursed a drink. Once in a while, he looked up to notice Sweets observing him and he would immediately flash the therapist a grin and rejoin the conversation. It annoyed Booth that the psychologist was clearly keeping an eye on him, but he also knew that Sweets was still struggling with being social and that he was probably just concerned about him. Thus, Booth decided to ignore his slight irritation and focus on what was weighing on his mind: Tuttle's confession.

After Tuttle wrote out his statement, the arrest had gone smoothly and swiftly. Booth found himself unnerved at how resigned Tuttle seemed to be to his fate.

'_He didn't even ask for a lawyer or anything,' _the agent pondered. '_He just…accepted what was happening to him. Sort of like he knew all along that he could get caught and had prepared himself for it.'_

Booth frowned and picked at his lo mein with his chopsticks. During this investigation, Tuttle had struck him as stubborn and quick-tempered, hardly the type of person who would take such a composed approach to life or who would react so placidly to being placed in jail.

'_But it's more than that,' _Booth thought as he continued to mull over the case. '_There's the rohypnol. There was no trace of it in Tuttle's things, and he didn't even seem to know about it when he killed him. He just thought that Hoffman was drunk when he arrived. He's already admitted to killing him. Why wouldn't he admit to drugging him?'_

'_And if it wasn't Tuttle…then who did drug Hoffman? And why?'_

While his thoughts about Tuttle's personality and details like the rohypnol were enough to bother Booth, the agent knew that deep down what was really getting to him was what Tuttle said when he confessed about the need for Hoffman to be "eradicated" and "wiped clean" before he destroyed others. It had seemed like an odd thing for Tuttle to say.

And Booth could not shake the feeling that he had heard those exact same words before, delivered in the same exact manner…in an entirely different homicide case.

The sound of laughter from the other side of the table interrupted Booth's train of thought. He then smiled to himself and tried to shift his focus back to dinner and everyone around him, even though he knew that he wouldn't be able to let this go despite the fact that the case was officially closed.

'_Now that this is over, there's not much to keep me busy at the moment,' _Booth mused. '_I'll just do some checking around in my old case files. It's probably nothing but….'_

"Booth, is something bothering you?"

The agent looked up to see Sweets studying him yet again. Booth responded by trying his best to grin.

"No big deal Sweets," he assured him. "It…it was just a tiring and weird case. I'm glad it's over."

Booth had hoped that he sounded carefree, but the way that the psychologist was staring at him told the agent that he hadn't succeeded. He was all too familiar with Sweets' patented "creepy stares" which the therapist usually developed when he was trying to get inside someone's head, and right now, Booth found himself on the receiving end of one.

"But it's not over," Sweets said softly. "Not entirely. Is it?"

Booth was simultaneously dumbfounded, irritated and elated that Sweets had been able to figure out exactly what was on his mind, but he was determined not to let any of that show.

"Just some loose ends is all," the agent said. Sweets nodded and looked down at his plate which still had more than half of its food on it. Even though the psychologist did not say another word on the matter, Booth could clearly read the unspoken question in Sweets' eyes.

'_Why are you lying to me?'_

"Hey Lance, are you going to eat more of that?" Peter said. "You really shouldn't be skimping on your meals so much. You're still too skinny."

The soldier's words had been spoken with as much warmth as possible and had been punctuated with a pat to Sweets' shoulder, but the psychologist clenched his hands tightly and did not look up from his plate.

"I'm not hungry," Sweets said, his voice low and tight. "Maybe later. Just…maybe later."

Sweets' tone startled Peter, but he quickly recovered and rubbed his cousin's shoulder.

"Ok Lance, whatever you want," he said. "We'll just have it boxed up for you and it can be a snack for later."

Sweets nodded, still not looking up. An awkward silence fell over the table which only served to turn Sweets' face bright red.

"Please…just…" Sweets murmured before abruptly getting up and sprinting away from the table toward the bathrooms. Peter opened his mouth to call after him, but ended up slumping down in his chair instead.

"Lance isn't getting better, is he?" the soldier asked solemnly.

"Actually he is," Brennan said. "The bones in his leg have remolded very well, as have his ribs. Also, he has…."

"That's not what he means, Bones," Booth said quietly. Brennan glanced over at him and then at the rest of the downcast faces at the table as she grasped his meaning.

"I shouldn't have left," Peter sighed. "I knew that his recovery wouldn't be easy, but I guess…I guess I wanted to believe that it would be easier than this."

Brennan was about to respond when a crash and the sound of yelling from the kitchen interrupted her. Booth and Peter stood up and they moved quickly toward the source of the noise. As they approached the kitchen doors, smoke and the stench of burned meat greeted them. One of the cooks soon burst through the doors, coughing as he went.

"Is everything all right back there?" Booth asked. "Should we call someone?" The cook coughed again and shook his head.

"Just a grease fire," the man said. "We were able to put it out, and no one was hurt. All that's left is some smoke and that smell. The fire completely charred the pork dishes that were on the stovetop, thus the stink."

Booth nodded and both he and Peter started to relax when another yell got their attention.

"Hey someone call an ambulance! There's something wrong with this guy."

Instinctively, Booth, Peter and everyone else from the table rushed over toward the source of the alarm. Their fears were confirmed by what they found.

Huddled down in a corner near the bathrooms was Sweets. He had curled into a fetal position on the floor, his eyes wide open, but unseeing, his breath coming out in short bursts. Sweat had matted his hair to his head, his curls damp with moisture.

Cam and Angela dropped down to their knees on either side of him. The pathologist started to check his pulse while Angela tried to take hold of one of his hands.

"I'm sorry…I'm sorry," Sweets gasped out.

"Sweets? Sweets, can you hear us?" Cam asked. The psychologist did not seem to hear her and started to weep.

"I'm sorry," he babbled out again, his breath speeding up.

"He needs to calm down," Cam said, looking up at the others still standing. "If he keeps going like this, he's going to hyperventilate."

"Sweets, it's ok," Angela said, trying hard not to panic herself.

"No…no, it's my fault that he's dead," Sweets wept. "Andrew killed him because he tried to protect me. It's my fault." Angela stared at him, open-mouthed in shock before looking up at the others.

"My God," she whispered. "Does he think he's back there? In that place?" She then looked over at Booth.

"He thinks you're dead," Angela added. The therapist then squeezed her hand hard enough to make her gasp.

"No…Brennan," he cried out. The anthropologist immediately knelt down beside him and extracted Angela's hand from his before replacing it with her own.

"I'm here, Sweets," she said calmly. Sweets shook his head vigorously and grabbed at her arm with his other hand.

"Run…please," he pleaded. "He's going after you now. You have to get away….I have to stop him…."

"Sweets, Andrew Jensen is dead," Brennan explained gently. "He can't harm anyone, anymore." Cam and Angela moved out of the way while Booth sat down on the floor on the other side of the psychologist. The agent placed a hand on Sweets' shoulder, and the therapist whimpered.

"Sweets, look at me," Booth said quietly. Sweets trembled at tried to shrink away, but the agent persisted.

"Look at me," he repeated. The psychologist finally glanced over at him, watery chocolate eyes staring into Booth's own. Booth then began to help him sit up.

"See, I'm right here. I'm not dead," he continued. "Andrew lied to you, and…and it's just like Bones said. He's dead now. He will never hurt you or any of us again." Sweets stared at him for a few seconds before letting Brennan go and grabbing at Booth's forearms instead.

"Are you sure?" the psychologist whispered. "Are you sure that he's dead?" Booth pulled one of his arms out of Sweets' grasp and placed a hand over his.

"I saw him die," Booth answered. "So did Bones. So did Peter. We all saw him die. He is never coming back."

Sweets slumped forward. His breathing was still shallow, but it was slowing down.

"Never coming back," the therapist parroted in a whisper. He still clung to one of Booth's arms while Brennan resumed her hold on his other hand.

"Are you all right now?" she asked him. Sweets looked up at her. Traces of a greenish hue had appeared on his face.

"That smell," he gulped. "It's just like…like that smell when Andrew…when the body…."

Brennan nodded and quickly helped to pull Sweets to his feet, pushing the others out of her way as soon as he was standing. She then led him into the nearest bathroom and guided him toward a toilet where he promptly knelt back down and vomited. Within minutes, he was finished, and he sat down onto the floor and leaned against the wall of the stall. Brennan settled down beside him.

"I know," she said. "The first time I was asked to identify some burn victims…the smell was overwhelming. I was able to do my work, but toward the end, I had to take a moment to go somewhere to vomit. After that, I was unable to go to most restaurants for a couple of days. It took time for me to move past the smell and the natural reaction to it."

"It was all I could think about. It was like it filled my brain and pushed away all other thoughts," Sweets murmured. "I couldn't stop smelling it…couldn't stop seeing that body and how it…." The therapist shook his head and put a hand over his eyes. He remained that way for a moment before looking over at her.

"Doctor Brennan, what happened?" he asked. "How did I end up here, in this bathroom?" Brennan's eyes widened slightly in response to his questions.

"Sweets, don't you remember what just happened?" she asked. She then explained how they had come to this restaurant for dinner, how he had left the table at one point, and how they had found him near the bathrooms. By the end of her narrative, Sweets was thoroughly mortified.

"I don't remember leaving the table," he nearly whispered. "Or any of that stuff outside the bathroom. I just…I was here in the restaurant…and then there was that smell…And then I was here with you. You were talking about identifying burn victims…and I…."

Sweets covered his face with his hands and remained that way even as the others started to file into the restroom.

"Sweets, are you all right?" Angela asked. The psychologist didn't respond other than to give her a slight nod.

"That's good," Hodgins replied. "And uh, hey Ange and I took care of the bills and had our meals boxed up, so you don't have to worry about any of that. Whenever you're ready, we can leave…or if you want to stay, we can…."

"No, I want to go," Sweets mumbled through his fingers.

"Lance, would you like me to stay with you tonight?" Peter asked. "We could stay at your apartment and in the morning I could…."

"No," Sweets said, finally moving his hands and looking over at the others. "You don't have to do that. I've got a bed already at Doctor Brennan's place. I…I'd like to sleep there tonight." The therapist then turned his head, unwilling to look any of them in the eye.

'_They know,' _Sweets thought to himself. '_They know how bad it is now. First Daisy and now all of them…even Peter.'_

'_They know that I broke you,' _Andrew's voice taunted.

'_How long, Lance? How long before they give up, just like that girl of yours did? How long will it be before the rest of them leave you?'_

'_You'll never escape me, Lance.'_

Sweets shuddered violently when he felt a hand touch his arm. He glanced over to see Booth crouching down beside him.

"Come on," Booth said. "Let's get you back to Bones' place. Then we'll figure out what we want to do next, ok?"

The therapist swallowed hard, his stomach still queasy. He hated to acknowledge it, but for a second, he had thought that it was Andrew who had touched his arm and had been startled to find Booth there instead.

Sweets let Booth and Brennan help him to his feet, after which everyone left to give him some privacy while he finished up in the bathroom. Eventually Sweets was standing in front of the sink, splashing water onto his face a few times. Once he was done, he stopped to stare at himself in the mirror above the sink.

He blinked hard; he barely recognized his own reflection in the mirror. The eyes that looked back at him were red, teary, and hollow with large dark circles underneath that almost looked like bruises. His complexion was pallid, his face thinned. His look was one of a haunted man, void of cheer, steadily wasting away. Sweets reached over and ran a finger over the glass.

'_Is this what I've become?' _he asked himself. '_A sad shadow of a man, unable to cope? A broken parody of a person?' _He then flattened his palm against the mirror.

'_Or…is this who I was all along? What if…what if what Andrew did to me just stripped away the façade I had constructed, and this is all that's underneath?'_

'_Is this what the others see in me now?'_

Sweets pulled his hand away and stepped back.

'_Who was I before?'_

'_And who am I now?'_


	9. Chapter 9

Author's Note: Next chapter. I hope to make updates a little more regular for a while, but we will see how that goes...

I do not own Bones or any of its characters.

Thank you to everyone who is reading/following/reviewing this.

**Super Ario: **Well progress is certainly going to be non-linear in this fic and varying depending on what aspect of recovery you are looking at. And yes this is a setback...and possibly a complication as well...

**Fluffybird: **Yes, I understood your meaning. :) And I have had readers in the past comment on how sections were wonderful and hard to read at times in reference to my writing in the past, so you are not alone. :) I hope to be updating this one more often for a while...

**D: **I agree. Part of what made Jensen so damaging was that he distorted and destroyed a lot of Sweets' "sense of self" and his feelings of security in his relationships with those close to him...which I believe are not always rock-solid as they are right now. Thus, he need to figure out who he really is in the face of what happened and what kind of existence he's going to have from this point on...And I agree that Booth could help (as could Brennan actually, in a less direct way) with that...Oh and to answer a question you had in another fic of mine, the Sweet Sling was a concoction that was mentioned on the Sweets' Journal for the iPad app for Bones. Apparently it is made of "rum, ginger ale and something fruity". :) So I have no idea how it turned out...

**Lives in the now: **I agree that that is something that he has been missing in all of this: the belief in his own strength and the desire to rely on it more. That along with a severe testing of his faith in himself and in those close to him. I think he will need to regain both along with a clear footing as to who he is at the fundamental level in order to move on...Glad that you are enjoying the case too though. I do plan to go back to it for the rest of the fic, so I hope you will continue to enjoy it. :)

**Peanutmeg: **Thanks for the review. There will be more flashback scenes (although many will be more of a story-telling device) that go into Jensen and what he did (some of which mention things that were not brought up in The Measure of the Spirit) in the future, so be prepared. But yes, there will also be a lot more of Team Jeffersonian's support in future chapters as well. :)

The Recovery in the Nocturne—Chapter 9

Later that evening, Booth, Brennan, Sweets and Peter gathered at Brennan's apartment. The psychologist asked to go to his room not long after they arrived so that he could go to bed. Peter offered to stay with his cousin until he fell asleep, but Sweets immediately declined, insisting that he needed time to himself.

After the psychologist went to his room and shut the door, the rest of them sat down in the front room where Booth and Brennan proceeded to fill Peter in on the events of the last two months. By the end of their report, Peter was crestfallen.

"So…what has Doctor Werner said recently?" he asked, running a hand over his face. "I mean, he has to be getting better physically at least, right? After all he doesn't have his cast or any of his other bandages anymore. And I'm pretty sure that he's stronger now than what he was."

"We have talked to her, and I've been reading her reports," Brennan replied. "According to her, Sweets has made good progress physically. She is, however, still concerned about the fact that he is underweight and fears that his immune system might be compromised right now. Any illness or infection could be serious."

"And what about that chef, Wyatt?" Peter asked. "Is Lance still seeing him?"

"Yeah, he is," Booth sighed. "But I think you know how complicated that is."

"Yeah, I know," the soldier said. "I just wish that there was more that I could do."

"You could try talking to Gordon Gordon," Both said. "He said something once about how he could use more information about Sweets' childhood."

"Well I can do that, but I'm not sure how much help I will be," Peter said. "I didn't meet Lance until he was eleven, and we spent large portions of time after that apart. We have shared a lot with each other, but I also know that there's a lot that he hasn't told me. So, anything I tell Chef Wyatt will have a lot of gaps."

"I'm sure that that's still better than what he's got to go on right now," Booth responded. "From what I've heard, Sweets hasn't exactly been the most forthcoming person during those meetings."

"Not surprising. Lance has never been forthcoming when it comes to himself," Peter nodded. "It takes a lot for him to trust someone enough to let them in. I often think that the only person who ever really knew Lance completely was Uncle David." The three of them became silent for a moment before Peter spoke up again.

"Agent Booth…I've spent quite a bit of time in the Army, as have you," he said. "I've seen what happened to Lance in that restaurant before."

"Flashback," Booth nodded. "I've been in some medic units and have seen guys relive some horror they experienced on the battlefield over and over again in their minds. Usually all it takes is some kind of 'trigger' to send them back."

"The smell of burned pork," Brennan said. "Sweets said that the scent overwhelmed him."

"That was probably the trigger," Booth said. "It can be all sorts of things: a sound, a smell, a set of images. He did the same sort of thing right before he left the hospital."

"But here is what's bothering me," Peter frowned. "That severe of a flashback…it doesn't strike me as something that is going to be an isolated event."

"Booth, what about the incident with Miss Wick?" the anthropologist asked. "Based on what she told us, it is possible that he experienced a similar event there as well?"

"Something happened with Lance's girlfriend?" Peter asked. Brennan then briefly went over the incident with him.

"So…are things ok between them now?" Peter asked, worry seeping into his tone.

"Sweets hasn't heard from her since," Booth snorted.

"There are a variety of possible explanations for that, Booth," Brennan said. "While it is possible that they are having problems, it could be that Miss Wick is unsure of how she should approach the situation. Sort of like when you were so hesitant to visit Sweets in the hospital when he was in a coma."

"That's not the same thing, Bones," Booth growl, a scowl forming on his face.

"It isn't?" Brennan questioned. "Because the situations appear to be…."

"But they aren't, all right?" Booth interrupted. "So let's just move on." Brennan was surprised at Booth remarks, and all three of them were aware of a tension that had filled the room. A few seconds of uncomfortable silence passed before Peter managed to speak again.

"Either way, this is just going to make things more difficult for Lance," he said. "I'm sure he blames himself for any problems that they could be having. I just hope that they work things out. Lance really loves her, and losing her would crush him even more." Peter leaned forward in his chair, his green eyes filled with concern.

"And then there's the problem of these flashbacks," he continued. "I'm thinking that they have been happening more often than just the couple of times that you two have mentioned." Booth nodded in response.

"Yeah I think so too," the agent said quietly. "I think he's been hiding them from us as best he could."

"But why would he do that?" Brennan asked. "Booth, you said that you saw it happen at the hospital, and after what happened with Daisy, we stayed with him all night. By now, Sweets must know that there's no need for him to feel ashamed or to hide any of this."

"He probably knows that," Peter said. "But that might not change anything. You have to understand something about Lance that Uncle David explained to me a few years ago." The soldier stretched out his legs in front of him.

"You guys have been great through this: supporting him, taking care of him and all that," he added. "Not unlike how my aunt and uncle took him in and made him a part of their lives. And much like when he was with them, Lance doesn't want to disappoint you or make you feel like all your efforts are for nothing. That's just how he is. He loves you, all of you. And he doesn't want to be the reason for any unhappiness or disappointment on your parts."

Both Booth and Brennan found their eyes growing moist. Although it was very rarely spoken aloud, the two of them had known for a while that Sweets cared deeply for each of them. But even this knowledge had not prepared them for the shock that they felt at the realization of how deep this affection probably went.

Nor did it stop them from feeling saddened that they hadn't had this realization before now.

"I know that it's wrong," Peter added, his voice somber. "But I keep thinking about how Lance was thinking about having himself committed at one point. Sometimes…sometimes I wonder if we should have stopped him after all."

Booth and Brennan sat in stunned silence for a moment before Brennan spoke, her eyes glittering with anger.

"No," she said. "It would have been a mistake if we hadn't stopped him."

"Bones," Booth said, flinching at her tone. "Peter's just worried that we're not going to be able to help Sweets. Not in the way that he needs."

"Then we should focus on finding new approaches rather than wasting time reconsidering faulty ones," she replied.

"I thought that you said originally that perhaps going to an institution might be good for him," booth said.

"I did think that," Brennan conceded. "But after having additional time to consider that option along with having the chance to spend time with Sweets over these last two months, I have come to the conclusion that my original assessment was in error. I am certain that Sweets belongs with us while he recovers, even though I must confess that I am unable to construct a completely logical argument to explain my reasoning."

"Don't worry Bones," Booth said with a lopsided grin. "I think that your reasoning is completely sound, even without a logical argument."

"That doesn't make sense," Brennan said, her brow creasing. "But I am glad that you agree." The two of them shared a look before turning to see Peter with a grin on his face.

"Sorry," he said, noting their confused expressions in response. "It's just that, I'm grateful that Lance was able to find his way to people like you." The soldier then shifted his position in his chair.

"And I agree with you, Doctor Brennan," he said. "We just need to find other ways to help him recover. I need to take care of some things at McNair tomorrow morning before I can take some time off, but after I do that I will go speak to Wyatt. Hopefully, I can give him something to work with."

"And I will speak with Angela," Brennan said. "She and Hodgins were thinking about having Sweets stay with them for a couple days. Perhaps a change of routine would be good for him."

Booth couldn't help but notice an undertone of regret in her voice, and he made sure to hide a smile. He knew that she had become used to having Sweets around, and truthfully, so had he. The bond between the three of them had only grown stronger during these last two months, and Booth knew that it would feel strange to not spend his evenings with Sweets for a while.

"What about you, Booth?" she asked. "Are you also going to talk to Wyatt?"

"No, I need to get some stuff done at the office," Booth said. "But I will be dropping by there at some point to talk to him about tonight…and I was thinking about bouncing some stuff off him about this case. There's still some things that don't add up for me."

"You think that Wyatt could help you with your case?" Peter asked.

"Before he retired, Gordon Gordon was one of the best forensic psychiatrists in the Bureau," Booth answered. "If anyone could help me with this, he could."

"Well I need to go," Peter said, rising to his feet. "I just want to thank all of you again for taking care of Lance."

"You're welcome," Brennan smiled.

"Yeah, no problem," Booth sighed again. "I just hope that things are going to get better soon."

* * *

><p>Unbeknownst to the three of them during this conversation, Sweets had not been able to go to sleep.<p>

After saying good night to all of them, the psychologist had curled up in his bed, hoping that he could get some rest after the long, tiring day that he had just had. He even tried closing his eyes and performing one of the relaxation exercises that Wyatt had recently recommended to him. But sleep proved to be elusive, and soon he became frustrated when he was unable to feel any calmer than when he first laid down. Eventually, he gave up on trying to sleep and ended up staring out the window while allowing his mind to drift.

He thought yet again about the events from the past few days. When he had first left the hospital, Sweets found himself falling into an even more severe depression due to his believing that he was not going to get better and that his friends and family were going to have to take care of him for the rest of his life. As he spent time in their care, however, he had started to find hope that he would slowly improve and overcome his wounds despite his numerous setbacks.

The events of this past week, however, had planted the seeds of doubt in the therapist's mind.

'_I thought that I was getting better,' _he mused. '_But maybe that was just wishful thinking…on my part and on theirs. They wanted so much for me to get better and they believed that it could happen…maybe I just wanted to believe in it too.'_

Sweets rolled over onto his side so that he could get a better view of the city lights that glowed and flickered outside his window. He thought again about Daisy and their disastrous reunion along with the fact that he hadn't been able to reach her since.

It hurt, but he found himself not wanting to blame her. For all of her cheer, Sweets knew that Daisy hated seeing him unhappy, and that the severity of his current misery was sure to be devastating to her.

'_It's so much to deal with. Who in their right mind would want to jump into that carrying that burden? It's no wonder why she's avoiding me right now.'_

Sweets gripped at his sheets. He had thought about arranging a meeting for the two of them, but would always back down on calling her at the last minute. He hated how easily he was giving up, but he also knew what was making him hesitate.

'_Maybe she's trying to work up the nerve to break up with me,' _he thought glumly. '_Or maybe she's trying to put it off for a while because she doesn't want to add to my problems right now. But…she should probably just get it over with. It's no good to stick around when the relationship won't work, right? She's close to finishing her doctorate and then she'll be getting started on a career. A career she had worked hard for years to achieve. It's not fair to ask her to sacrifice so much just to help me. Walking away from this relationship is the best thing to do.'_

Sweets' hands trembled as he tightened his grip. Even as he worked to convince himself of these ideas, anger wormed its way into his heart. The psychologist wasn't even sure of whom he was angry at, but he was certain of the rage that he felt stirring inside him. Rage that was looking for an outlet and for a target to be let loose upon.

Rage that grew even more potent when snippets of the conversation out in the front room made it to his ears.

"…_I keep thinking about how Lance was thinking about having himself committed…sometimes I wonder if we should have stopped him…"_

"…_we should focus on finding new approaches rather than wasting time…."_

"…_perhaps going to an institution might be good for him…"_

Sweets froze as he listened to these snatches of conversation, his heart sinking even as his anger continued to bubble inside him.

'_They keep making decisions for me,' _he silently fumed. '_As if my own life is out of my hands now…They don't even ask me what I think half the time anymore….'_

'_Just like Andrew…I was completely at his mercy…' _Sweets shook his head violently.

'_No, not like Andrew,' _he tried to convince himself. '_They care about me. They don't want to hurt me.'_

'_That's why they wish that I had been committed….?'_

Sweets swallowed hard, the lump in his throat becoming like a stone. He was able to reason that they were just discussing that as an alternative that they considered at one point, but that didn't stop him from feeling his insides grow cold as his rage bled away.

'_I'm dragging them down. Daisy, Booth, Brennan…all of them…even Peter. They keep having to put so much into my recovery and they are getting next to nothing in return for all of their efforts.'_

The psychologist suddenly heard footsteps approaching the room and the door click softly. He quickly turned over to his other side so that he was facing the wall. He then remained as still as possible as a faint light came into the room and a shadow walked up to the bed. Soon, Sweets felt someone touch his shoulder, and it took a tremendous effort to not react.

"Lance? You asleep?" Peter's voice murmured. The therapist did not respond, even as his cousin repositioned his blanket so that it covered his shoulders.

"Have a good night, Whiz Kid," the soldier whispered. "I'll see you tomorrow." Sweets waited while Peter stood where he was for a moment before finally leaving the room and closing the door behind him.

'_I can't keep living this way,' _he thought. '_None of us can.'_

Sweets shifted about under his blanket, trying to find the most comfortable position to sleep.

'_I need to start trying to lock this all away,' _he told himself. '_I'm a professional psychologist. I should be able to find a way to shut all this away and move on….'_

'_You'll never escape me, Lance.'_

At this point, Sweets was starting to believe that that was true.

But that wasn't going to stop him from trying to run away for as long as he could.


End file.
